


The Things We Do For Love

by Glare



Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Alpha!Hux, Alpha!Kylo, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, Courtship, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Everybody gets a redemption, F/F, Family Dynamics, Fluff and Angst, Force-Sensitive Finn, M/M, Multi, Omega!Finn, Other, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Past Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Prompt Fill, Relationship Negotiation, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-24
Updated: 2017-01-24
Packaged: 2018-05-15 23:27:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 42
Words: 60,235
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5804413
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Glare/pseuds/Glare
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompt Fill for the TFA-Kinkmeme</p><p>When Alphas Hux and Kylo encounter a compatible Omega Finn, their attempt at courtship quickly turns into a galactic revolution.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. First Meetings

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Acantha](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Acantha/gifts).



> Hello! It is me, your local Trash Author, crawling out of the Garbage Can to bring you this fill for Acantha's ABO prompt over at the TFA-Kinkmeme. They are also filling this prompt with an absolutely wonderful story you should definitely check out.
> 
> I am just a sucker for ABO and wanted to try my hand at this pairing.  
> The prompt itself is pretty long, so i'll summarize: Alphas Kylo and Hux trying, and failing, to court Omega Finn and making a huge mess in the process.  
> The original prompt has Finn on suppressants, and in this the Stormtrooper's helmets are additionally designed to filter out scents. 
> 
> Hope this is ok ;v;  
> Unbeta'd

There is nothing exciting about sanitation. It’s repetitive, tedious, and FN-2187-O has been doing it for as long as he can remember being stationed on the Starkiller. He moves on autopilot; mop here, polish there, allowing his mind to wander as he works. To the happenings of the base around him, to reviewing what he’d learned in his latest training session, to anything that will distract him from the dull work. Troopers pass in twos or threes as he goes, hurrying off to their assigned duties that are undoubtedly more interesting than sanitation.

There are days that FN-2187-O’s mind wanders even further. He dwells on the rumors he’s heard whispered in the night of life beyond the First Order—of a vast galaxy filled with infinite choices. In fact, it’s on one of those days that he fails to notice the other troopers avoiding the entrance to one particular interrogation room in 87’s assigned sector. As such, he dutifully pushes his mop through the door only to be startled out of his thoughts when he finds it in far worse shape than it should be. And in the center of the room, on the tail end of one of his legendary tantrums, is Kylo Ren.

87 is only allowed a moment of surprise before he’s being tugged across the room by an invisible force, straight into the knight’s outstretched hand. Fingers close tight around his throat, holding him up and forcing him to work for every breath. Kylo Ren growls, the intimidating noise made all the more terrible by the modulator in his mask, and 87 flinches as much as possible when the lightsaber descends in an arc of crimson. And then—

And then nothing. There is no burning, no pain, no light at the end of the tunnel. 87 can hear the crackle and his of the lightsaber, and when he forces himself to open his eyes it is hovering just over his shoulder. A scant few inches lay between himself and certain death and Kylo Ren has frozen mid-swing. The grip on his throat is released suddenly and 87 nearly doubles over—relief washing over him as he tries to catch his breath. Ren takes a step back and deactivates the lightsaber.

“What is your designation?” Ren asks, the question somehow managing to come out without inflection despite the way the taller man’s chest heaves with the side effects of his own exertion.

 “FN-2187-O,” 87 tells him in between ragged pants.

  “And what are you doing here, FN-2187-O?”

  “Sanitation.” 87 gestures weakly at his supplies in the doorway for emphasis.

Kylo Ren hums in acknowledgement, and while 87 can’t see anything behind the man’s intimidating mask, he gets the vague impression that the Knight is studying him. 87 would not be lying if he said that this entire interaction had him wrong-footed.

“I didn’t mean to disturb you, sir,” 87 spits out hastily when Ren steps back into his space, righting himself and flinching away from the leather-clad hand he can see approaching in his peripheral vision, “I didn’t know you were in here and this is my sector-”

Kylo Ren tugs 87’s helmet off with the kind of roughness one might expect from someone unfamiliar with the mechanics of a Stormtrooper’s armor. The helmet clatters to the ground when Ren drops it, and those hands are reaching for 87’s throat again. He forces himself to be still, because something in his hindbrain is whispering that a struggle would only make this situation worse.

But this time, the hands on his neck do not hurt. They dance along his skin, tugging the neck of his back undersuit down while Ren leans in to inspect the column of his throat. 87 gets a lungful of something he can only describe as _magnificent_ with Ren so close and his eyes slip shut of their own accord.

“There will be bruising,” he hears Ren say from somewhere as distant as the next system, caught up as he is in the strange scent, “it will hurt, but will be no lasting damage.”

Then Ren is pulling his hands away, scooping 87’s helmet off the floor and shoving it into his chest. When 87’s arms close around it, more than a little thrown by yet another sudden swing to the mood, the Knight straightens up and steps back, taking the scent with him.

“Report to General Hux immediately. Inform him that he will need to send more ‘troopers to clean this mess up.”

And then Kyo Ren is sweeping out of the room, and 87 is left with the realization that he has no idea what had just happened.

\--

Hux had been having a bad enough day when the latest report to the Supreme Leader had ended with Kylo Ren storming from the chambers and down into the bowels of the planet. Hux did not need the red-hot thrumming of their bond to know that the other alpha would be leaving a trail of destruction in his wake while he worked out his frustrations. With Kylo’s temperament, these kinds of outbursts could be expected and the budget for repairs altered accordingly. What Hux didn’t expect was that his day could possibly get any worse.

“Sir,” a voice behind him calls, drawing his attention from the holopad in his hand. One of the technicians stands nearby with a Stormtrooper just behind him, “this ‘trooper carries a message from Kylo Ren.”

In hindsight, that in itself was unusual. Kylo typically forgoes the use of traditional communication, in favor of projecting necessary information straight into Hux’s mind through the Force and their mating bond. There is less miscommunication that way. Hux doesn’t stop to think about that, though, and instead waves the ‘trooper over.

This, as it happens, is a mistake. The ‘trooper has barely reached his side when Hux’s senses pick up on the unmistakable scent of a compatible partner. A compatible _omega_ partner. Hux chokes on the breath he was taking and scrambles for his composure. The Stormtrooper, for his part, doesn’t seem keen on commenting about the lapse. He stands stiffly at attention and doesn’t meet Hux’s eyes—a perfect subordinate. For a brief moment the thought that _his omega_ isn’t looking at him grates at something primal, a traitorous whisper that the ‘trooper should be basking in his majesty, but Hux smothers it mercilessly with his own rage.

Kylo Ren had done this on purpose. He may not have the gift of force-sensitivity, but Hux can practically feel the other alpha’s vindictive pleasure through their bond. Ren could have sent his message any other way, but had chosen instead to use this _omega_ to disrupt Hux’s careful composure. Undoubtedly a retaliation for his earlier humiliation in Snoke’s chambers.

Hux and Kylo may be bonded, but it has always been a relationship forged more for politics than love. Their compatibility was nothing more than a convenient means through which to align the Sith and the Order.

 He at least feels some satisfaction that if Kylo was confident enough to believe this omega’s scent would instigate Hux, the man must have had a strong reaction himself.

“What is your designation?” Hux asks the ‘trooper, to better avoid him further along.

“FN-2187-O,” the omega responds.

 “And the message?”

“Kylo Ren instructed me to inform you that you would need to send more sanitation ‘troopers to Sector D. He—he, um…”

Here the Stormtrooper stumbles over his words, apparently grasping for a respectful way to inform a superior that a colleague had thrown a temper tantrum in one of the interrogation rooms resulting in expensive property damage.

“Thank you, 2187,” Hux cuts him off, “I will send someone down there immediately. Was there anything else?”

“No, sir, General.”

“You are dismissed, then.” Hux says, and focuses on his holopad once again.

He definitely does not miss FN-2187-O’s scent when he’s gone.


	2. Backfire: Part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kylo falls hard, Hux retaliates, and Finn still has no idea what is going on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And now we've reached the part of the story where I begin diverging from canon.

The transfer request arrives on Hux’s desk two weeks later. Hux, his unruly mate, Phasma, and a handful of Stormtroopers are scheduled to relocate to the Star Destroyer _Finalizer_ in order to chase down a lead on the mythical map to Luke Skywalker in the upcoming days. Already supplies were being gathered, transports loaded, some staff sent ahead to make sure preparations on the Destroyer were proceeding as well.

FN-2187-O had been originally listed as one of the troops to remain planetside and well away from General Hux. In the time between becoming aware of the Omega’s existence and the transfer request, Kylo Ren had been ruthless in shoving the 2187 under his nose at any possible avenue. 2187 often comes bearing inconsequential messages, and the other Alpha seems to have taken great pleasure in watching his mate trip over the omega now constantly under his feet. Quite frankly, he’d been looking forward to the break. But now his holopad projects the request to allow 2187 aboard the _Finalizer_ , signed by Kylo kriffing Ren.

And Hux can’t even turn it down.

FN-2187-O’s file is striking. Hux begrudgingly admits that if he is to suffer through having a Stormtrooper as an Omega, this would be the ‘trooper he would select. One of Phasma’s prodigies: highly intelligent, skilled use of weapon conceivable, and an unwavering devotion to the First Order. While there are a few comments about compassion for the other ‘troopers, 2187 has never been sent to reprogramming and his simulator scores more than prove that the behavioral quirk common to those of his gender does not hinder his unit in the field. In fact, there is not a single thing in 2187’s file that would be suitable cause for denying the request and grounding the ‘trooper.

And there it is again. The warm, fuzzy feedback Hux has come to associate with his other half interacting with 2187. The omega would undoubtedly be coming shortly on some ridiculous errand and would stink up Hux’s space with his distracting scent and—

But wait. That’s a little odd isn’t it?

Kylo Ren is never happy about anything. Even the thought of completing Darth Vader’s mission came with the solemn weight of responsibility instead of the pleasure Hux can feel thrumming through their bond. It dawns on Hux once again that he is not the only one affected by this ‘trooper. Kylo Ren has begun to grow genuinely _fond_ of the Omega.

Hux looks down at the transfer request once again, and wonders. 2187 truly is an excellent ‘trooper. As one of Phasma’s rising stars, there is a bright ahead of him. Perhaps Hux could give it a kick start…

He approves the request with one small change and a smile on his face.

The fit Kylo is likely to throw may, just this once, be worth the money.

\--

Being an Omega has never really meant much to 87. He has an O at the end of his designation instead of Nines’ A or Slip’s B and he takes a couple more pills than the others each morning, but otherwise, nothing really changes. In the First Order everyone is identical. They train the same way, eat the same things, sleep on the same bunks; an endless sea of indistinguishable white armor with equally uniform soldiers within. Sometimes it bothers 87, but he never dares say it out loud.

Another thing that bothers him but he doesn’t dare admit is how frequently he now runs into Kylo Ren.

87 has been alive for just around 23 standard years, and in that time had crossed paths with the Alpha only a scant number of times. He could have probably counted them on one hand alone. Following their meeting in the interrogation room, though, he seems to spend more time at Ren’s side than he does away from it. The Knight sends him on little errands most of the time, usually to the perpetually disgruntled General Hux, but after the first week, they begin to talk. When 87 is cleaning and Ren has nowhere to be, the alpha will find somewhere to perch and they talk about little things. How his day is, how his latest simulation session went, the new skills he’s recently learned in training.

It is… bizarre. He doesn’t understand the Knight’s newfound fascination with him. Ren has a reputation for cold ruthlessness or reckless violence, depending on the day. But beyond their initial confrontation, 87 has seen little trace of either. Kylo seems genuinely interesting in his exploits, and the alpha’s mask is far less intimidating now that 87’s heard it laugh at a particularly unfunny joke Slip had told him once. And 87 isn’t about to turn down a friendly encounter.

The other ‘troopers have noticed, of course. They can’t be expected to miss the sudden emergence of 87’s overlarge black shadow for long. He hears their whispers in the mess or as he passes them in the halls. Most of them are simply curious about what has put their more volatile commander in better spirits over, but others have crueler things to say. They say that 87 is trying to sleep his way to the top—that it’s the only way an _omega_ could ever succeed. He’s not sure what his gender has to do with anything, but the other ‘troopers sneer it like an insult. Usually Alphas. They resent him, but that’s nothing unusual. Someone has always resented him for one reason or another. For his gender or skill or for Phasma’s approval. At least now he has someone to talk to other than Slip.

“Are you prepared for the departure?” Ren asks him one day while 87 is emptying the waste receptacles in the mess. Ren has been following him around, discussing preparations for the relocation to the _Finalizer_.

“I’m not going,” 87 says absently, his back to Kylo. He fails to see the way the alpha stiffens at his words, “I’m assigned to stay planetside. Only need so many sanitation troopers on a Star Destroyer, after all.”

Ren makes a choked sort of noise, but by the time a confused 87 turns around, the alpha has already disappeared down the hallway.

\--

2178 had not shown up for his sanitation duties.

This is the thought that loops in Kylo’s mind as he stalks the halls of the _Finalizer_ , ‘troopers parting around him like the seas of some ancient religious text. He’d checked the manifest as they ran final checks before departure from Star Killer. 2187 had been listed as one of the transfers then.

But perhaps Hux had done something. Kylo’s been getting nothing but smug satisfaction from his end of the bond all day which, combined with 2187’s absence, has sent Kylo up to the Bridge in a blistering rage.

Sure it had been entertaining to instigate his bondmate. The Alpha had clearly taken poorly to 2187’s introduction into this life. Watching him fumble over some semblance of control while he tried to ignore their compatibility has been plenty amusing. But that wasn’t the reason Kylo had requested the omega’s transfer aboard the _Finalizer_.

They are compatible with the lovely Omega. That’s really all there is to say. Hux may be able to distance himself, but Kylo has been raised in passion. He’s been trained to allow emotion and primal instinct to guide him—to make him powerful. This is no different. Kylo couldn’t have stopped his developing affections for 2187 if he’d tried. The Omega is a breath of fresh air, a soothing melody, solid ground on which to anchor himself against the chaos found in darkness. He’d never felt more in control of his own power than in the days he’s had 2187 to stabilize himself against. If Hux had left the Omega behind simply to spite Kylo…

The Bridge is, as always, a torrent of activity. Technicians hustle too and fro, checking the status of a hundred different things and reporting them in turn. At the center of it is Hux, snapping orders like he was made for it. Sometimes Kylo thinks that he was; that maybe he was born with his perpetually sour look.

The form at Hux’s side stills Kylo in his tracks.

Because there, in the charcoal grey of a standard First Order officer’s uniform and looking quite out of his depth, is 2187.

Hux notices him then, a smug grin on his face, and crosses the room with 2187 at his heels.

“You know,” Hux says, pausing just in front of Kylo and practically oozing satisfaction, “I should really be thanking you. He is quite exceptional. I’m sure he’ll be very helpful in our time together.”

The other Alpha takes his leave then, leaving the bridge to attend to his duties with 2187 trotting diligently after him.

Kylo Ren sees red.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It mighta been unclear, so basically what happened was that Hux promoted Finn so he'd be spending more time with Hux instead of Kylo. Just to make him mad.
> 
> Next Time: Great Plans continue to backfire on everybody.


	3. Backfire: Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hux's Grand Plan falls apart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 3 chapters in one day. Dang i'm proud of myself.  
> Additionally: I wrote this chapter while eating Star Wars shaped macaroni, because I am 20 years old and can do what I want.

There is no mask to accompany the officer’s uniform that Captain Phasma shoves into his hands when she pronounces that he’s been promoted. _Personal Assistant to General Hux_ , she says, almost like she’s proud of him. He can feel the eyes of the other troopers in the bunks and knows what they’re thinking. He’s thinking the same thing.

He doesn’t deserve this.

87 is a sanitation ‘trooper. He scrubs floors and takes out waste and sometimes runs drills with his unit. He doesn’t know the first thing about personal assisting. Certainly not assisting General Hux, whom 87 had assumed despised him until Phasma told him that he’s been requested personally.

“You won’t actually have to do much,” Hux tells him when he arrives on the Bridge for the first time, “I just need you _here_.”

He emphasizes the last word like it’s important, but 87 isn’t entirely sure why. He’s not been entirely sure _why_ of anything for weeks now. He does heave a sigh of relief at Hux’s words, though. He’s glad to have time to adjust.

Life without a mask is chaotic. 87 knew that Stormtrooper helmets filter out scents, but had always assumed the suppressants he took every morning were dulling the brunt of his senses. He hadn’t realized until he entered the Bridge just how wrong he’d been. The air around him is thick with Alpha musk, as may be expected of the higher ranks. Trying to process and catalogue so many scents at once is disorienting. Exhausting. He can’t help but wonder if they were on to something when they decided to spare Stormtroopers the struggle.

There is one scent that stands out above the rest, however. It’s bold and bright and achingly familiar. It’s made up of the same feeling of _rightness_ that had made Kylo Ren’s scent so appealing when he’d experienced it during their initial meeting, but this one is slightly different. Just enough to make it unique. 87 wants nothing more than to bask in it, and he might have if given the chance. But the scent is coming from General Hux and, for all Phasma’s reassurance that all is well between himself and the Alpha, 87 doesn’t allow himself to drift too close.

It helps that Hux doesn’t stand still very long.

And then Kylo Ren is on the Bridge, Hux is grinning like he’s won some magnificent prize, and 87 can’t help the sinking feeling in his gut that this situation is about to go from bad to worse. They haven’t spoken since 87 originally told him he wasn’t going aboard the _Finalizer_ , and the sight of him has obviously taken Kylo by surprise.

Hux practically struts up to the other man, and whatever he murmurs makes Kylo go rigid. 87 can’t see the man’s phase behind his mask, but he would bet that Ren’s expression isn’t pleasant. The man’s rich scent sours in air around them, hitting 87 like a physical blow. He hates knowing that the Alpha is _hurt_ , but is helpless to do anything about it.

When Hux steps away, 87 is almost eager to follow and flee.

\--

The world around Kylo Ren is fire, burning hot and red with every strike he makes. His carefully crafted control is shattering; frayed and unstable like the crimson blade of his saber. He doesn’t have exhaust ports to vent with, though, reduced instead to working himself to exhaustion in the empty training hall. Tearing at the walls, the floor, anything to be rid of this roiling, angry energy.

The last time he’d done this, he’d met 2187. That thought stokes the flames again, and he hacks at the walls with renewed vigor until his arms are shaking and the blade slips from his grip. Its hilt clatters against the ruined floor, and Kylo sinks to meet it.

Hux has done a great many cruel things over the course of their relationship, they both have, but this is by far the cruelest.

He should have known Hux would figure it out. He should have known Hux, ruthless General Hux, would seize any opportunity to exploit Kylo’s weaknesses. And to feel the pleasure his mate had gotten from depriving him of 2187’s soothing presence, to feel his satisfaction curling around their bond, well…

Kylo desperately wants to collect his lightsaber and begin again, but suspects it will be some time yet before the strength to even pull himself off the floor returns, let alone wield his uncooperative saber. He allows his eyes to droop closed and focuses on the hiss and drip of the molten metal left in his saber’s wake, hoping to lull himself into some semblance of meditation. Anything to distract his mind from the dark-skinned Omega and his wide, worried eyes and Hux’s damned smirk. The bond between himself and the other Alpha has gone silent, and Kylo drifts off.

\--

If asked, General Hux would likely be able to tell you the exact moment he realized his magnificent plan to get under Kylo Ren’s skin had backfired, and quite stupendously at that: Day One. He supposes something could be said for managing to get through most of the day unscathed, though, if you are an optimistic thinker.

2187 is everything his file promised. He’s sharp and attentive, listening when Hux speaks and not interrupting to ask stupid questions the way even some of his superiors do. 2187 does not need to be instructed more than once, nor does he waste Hux’s time with flowery answers that could have easily been given in one or two short sentences. He trails a respectful distance behind, but Hux glances back once to see the Omega’s head on a swivel, clearly paying attention to their surroundings. A perfectly trained soldier.

What was not be mentioned in the file is the way 2187 smells. Hux had thought it bad when he’d met the Omega, but it seems the Stormtrooper armor had been muting the strength of his pleasing scent. Every inhalation serves as a test of will, and he suddenly wonders how Kylo Ren managed to make it two weeks without a single lapse in self-control. Combined with 2187’s handsome features, Hux can not dismiss the Omega fast enough when their rounds are completed.

The persistent burn of Kylo Ren’s rage has dulled to something closer to smoldering ash in the back of Hux’s mind. The other Alpha must have worn himself out by now and Hux makes his way toward the the belly of the _Finalizer_ , where it was earlier reported Kylo had vanished. He would need to assess the damage done by this latest outburst.

It’s easy enough to pick up Ren’s trail once he’s on the training floor. He follows gouges in the walls and floor that increase in frequency as he nears one of the disused training halls and silently thanks the Maker that Ren had been decent enough to take his frustrations out on something that wouldn’t need to be fixed right away. He rounds the corner into the room, and the snarky words he’d had on his tongue die there, because Ren is not alone.

2187 lays on the scarred floor, his fingers stroking through unruly black curls as he stares up at the roof. Kylo’s mask is discarded on the floor nearby, the man himself half-draped over top of the Omega’s smaller form, face tucked into the crook of 2187’s neck and hands fisted in his uniform. The Omega’s lips are moving, but he speaks too softly for Hux to hear what is being said.

It’s… peaceful, and something in Hux’s gut twists at the sight. He _wants_ this. Just the two of them and him, tangled together and _content_. The sudden intensity of that desire threatens to overwhelm him. _Kylo Ren is a volatile child_ , he tries, _2187 was nothing but a sanitation worker before this morning_ , but he can’t seem to muster the disgust he’d harbored even hours ago.

Hux still wanted the First Order to triumph, wanted the Resistance crushed beneath their heels, wanted his name down in history as the man who made that happen. But something fundamental had changed.

This was the moment that Hux’s Grand Plan fell apart: the moment he realized that he wanted _this_ , too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Honestly this fic is getting a lot more schmoopy then I intended. It was supposed to be funny and now it's this. Angst and fluff. Help me.   
> This is probably the last update until Tuesday, at the earliest. Probably dependent on how my first speech in Public Speaking goes. Yay, college.
> 
> Next Time: Snuggles from Kylo's perspective, courting begins in earnest, and nobody realizes Finn is still clueless.
> 
> Now I am going to bed. Goodnight, dears uvu


	4. Love Like Fools

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kylo courts Finn, Hux courts them both, Finn is still really confused.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everybody!  
> First of all, thank you so much for all the kind comments you've left me. I know I haven't replied to everybody, but rest assured that I cherish each and every one of them.  
> My speech went alright. Thanks to those of you who wished me well!  
> And a new update for you!

“Kylo?”

It’s soft in the quiet of the empty training hall. A barely-there question that Kylo might have ignored if not for the voice who asked it. He knows this voice now near as well as his own, maybe even more so after so many years of distortion by the helmet.

The thought of the helmet sends a spike of panic through Ren. It’s laying somewhere on the floor, cast away in his earlier rage. He doesn’t want 2187 to see him like this; an Omega should never have to see their Alpha so weak, but he doesn’t have the strength to reach for it. Instead he listens to the approaching footsteps and screws his eyes shut so he doesn’t have to see the disgusted expression 2187 will be wearing when he realizes the state Kylo is in.

“Oh, Kylo,” he hears, but it’s not the tone he expected. His eyes fly open of their own accord and when he finally dares to look up, 2187 doesn’t look disgusted at all. In fact, he almost looks… sad. “What did you do to yourself?”

He wants to spit out some snarky answer, something that will distract the Omega from his current state, but what comes out of his throat is a pitiful whine instead. The air around him is quickly growing thick with 2187’s scent, his concern, and Kylo’s head is growing fuzzy with the warmth of it. 2187 situates himself on the ground beside Kylo, heedless to the creases it will make in his uniform, and the hand that runs through Kylo’s tangled hair is nothing short of bliss.

“Come here,” 2187 murmurs, laying back against the floor and dragging the Alpha closer, until he’s curled neatly along the Omega’s side with his nose tucked into 2187’s throat. His fingers fist into the fabric of 2187’s uniform, desperate with the need to hold him close after Hux’s stunt on the Bridge.

“You can’t keep doing this,” the Omega is saying, but it sounds distant to Kylo’s ears. He’s caught up in the thrum of 2187’s heart, his soothing scent, the feeling of his nails scratching against Kylo’s scalp. “It’s not healthy. If you need help, you should just ask. I—”

Kylo doesn’t hear much after that, the potent combination of exhaustion and comfort pulling him down into the clutches of sleep.

\--

It starts in the Mess.

There is no place amongst the Stormtroopers for 87 anymore. He stands out as an anomaly in the sea of white. They do not see him as one of their own. To them he is the traitor; the Omega who’d abandoned them for the lofty ranks they’d once mocked in hushed tones. His seat at Slip’s side has already been filled by a young new recruit with fair skin and sandy blonde hair.

It’s the same with the officers. Though he wears the same uniform, 87 is an outcast among them. The Stormtrooper, they call him, though he’s not anymore; the one who slept his way into the Bridge. The one with no stories to tell and not a thing to his name. He’s not welcome with them, either.

Instead, 87 finds an isolated corner of the Mess and spends his time pushing his rations around on the tray. He’s not hungry, hasn’t been since this promotion, and especially not since finding Kyo Ren in the training rooms the previous evening. There’d been something strange about their encounter. It seemed meaningful, somehow, beyond the typical reassuring touches shared by ‘troopers after missions or stressful simulations. He couldn’t help but feel like he’d inadvertently set something in motion.

And suddenly he’s not alone.

The tray clatters against the tabletop beside 87’s own, startling him back to the present. His eyes trail up the arm of the tray’s owner until he reaches the face of—

“General Hux?”

“Is this seat taken?” the Alpha asks, voice giving no indication that he know how strange the situation is.

“N-no,” 87 sputters, because there’s clearly no one around.

Hux nods and settles himself primly on the seat beside 87, and the Omega jerks his eyes from the superior offer in favor of poking at his meal with renewed vigor. He’d been able to stomach some of the meal, a light pink paste-like substance that tasted vaguely sweet, but the heavy protein cakes seemed beyond his nervous stomach. The Alpha isn’t helping things, either, with his scent. It’s so similar to Kylo Ren’s, and every breath dredges up memories that only intensify the twisting feeling in his gut.

“You’re not eating,” Hux says suddenly, looking 87 up and down with an expression to put his usual sour face to shame.

“Not feeling very hungry, sir,” 87 tells him.

“It’s not healthy to skip meals, 2187,” the Alpha huffs, considering the Omega’s tray while 87 wonders when the General began to care for his wellbeing. “You need to keep up your strength.”

“I’ll be fine,” 87 tries to say, but Hux already is pushing the small bowl containing his own portion of the pink paste in his direction.

“Eat, 2187,” Hux nothing short of commands.

“Yes, sir,” 87 mumbles and pulls the bowl closer, doing his best to ignore the eyes of curious onlookers.

He misses the pleased expression that settles over the General’s features when he returns to his own meal.

\--

The hunt for Skywalker is going poorly. 87 doesn’t need to be a General to know that. They’ve traveled from one side of the galaxy to the other and back again, chasing rumors of the elusive Jedi’s location. There are always teams on one planet or another, but 87 is never among them. Instead, he looks down on the glowing orbs from the Bridge’s wide windows and listens to Hux or Kylo explain about the planet and its peoples. It’s a little strange. Recently, it seems like he’s never without one or the other. Sometimes it’s both of them, but those occasions are scarcer. He’s aware that they don’t usually devote this kind of attention to a single person, and can’t for the life of him figure out why they are now.

He follows Hux through his rounds, jotting notes on a holopad the General had gifted him with when he’d realized that the Omega did not own one. He learns a great deal about managing a Star Destroyer in the process. Hux is surprisingly patient in explaining new topics or ideas. Sometimes he’ll ask 87’s opinion on something, and seems genuinely interested in his opinion.

When the General goes planetside or has other business to attend to, 87 is sent to Kylo. There he learns meditation, spending countless hours at the Alpha’s side in silence. It’s not 87’s preferred way to pass time, but Kylo explains that it’s important to his control of the Force. 87 doesn’t know much about the Force beyond the brutal efficiency with which Kylo wields it, but doesn’t ask after it. He’s not Force-Sensitive, so the gap in his knowledge affects him very little.

The best days are when they spar. 87 doesn’t have a partner now that he’s been excommunicated by the ‘troopers, and the other officers spend very little time on the training floor, but Kylo is eager to take him up on the offer the first time he asks. They start with hand-to-hand, 87’s preferred method of blowing off steam, but quickly progress to something more difficult.

87 is sure his eyes just about pop out of his skull the first time Kylo Ren presses a training ‘saber into his hands.

“I-I can’t take this,” he sputters, only to be met with an amused look from the Alpha. The hall is empty except for them, so he’s removed his helmet. 87 likes him better this way.

“Of course you can.”

“No, sir, I really—” he tries to give the weapon back, but Kylo catches the Omega’s hands in his own and curls his fingers tight around 87’s, until he’s clutching at the hilt of the ‘saber.

“I want you to learn,” Ren murmurs, squeezing 87’s fingers briefly before pulling away.

“Ok,” 87 squeaks, and tries not to let his hands shake when Kylo explains how to activate the blade.

He doesn’t have the vocabulary to accurately describe the look Kylo gives him the first time 87 manages to knock the lightsaber from his grip.

\--

Kylo Ren is tense; he feels like he’s walking on eggshells. There’s a nervous energy thrumming under his skin and he’s waiting for the other shoe to drop because this is _too easy_. Things are never easy. He’s had to scratch and bite and claw his way into the life he’s chosen. He even has to fight for the darkness that fuels his power. The sudden change of pace has left him considerably wrong-footed.

Cruelty is familiar. What he and Hux have shared has never been the flowery, lovely kind of bond described in children’s books. Their mating had been a quick and violent affair, just enough to secure the bond, and every day since they’ve torn at each other’s throats with escalating brutality. Their connection burned hot and red and raw, until suddenly it didn’t. Suddenly there were no more cruel words or turned phrases and 2187 spent more time at his side and Kylo Ren was going to go mad if something didn’t give.

“Let me walk you back to your quarters,” Hux says after an audience with Snoke, and suddenly Kylo’s had enough of the waiting.

He hasn’t put his helmet back on yet, and it clatters noisily to the floor when he grabs a hold of Hux and shoves him up against the wall. It’s easy enough, the other Alpha hasn’t been combat-ready in years, and Kylo gets a brief flicker of satisfaction at the surprised look on Hux’s face.

“What are you doing?” Kylo snarls, one arm pressed tight against Hux’s throat to prevent him from fleeing.

“What do you mean?” Hux sputters.

“You know very well what I mean!” Kylo roars, “With the peace and letting me see 2187 and the ‘let me walk you back to your quarters’! What. Are. You. Doing?”

“I’m just trying to fix things.”

“Why? Why would you want to fix things? You hate me. Why would you possibly—”

Kylo doesn’t get to finish his sentence, because Hux surges forward out of his grip and covers Kylo’s lips with his own. It’s awkward and sloppy and the angle’s all wrong, but the angry words and accusations are lost to him by the time he realizes what’ happening and jerks away.

“What?” Kylo pants, confused.

“I saw you,” Hux says, and though he looks unsure of his own actions, his words are strong and even, “I saw you and 2187 in the training hall after I promoted him. I saw you two—” Here his words falter momentarily, but he collects himself quickly, “I saw you together and I realized that’s what I want. For me. For you. The three of us together.”

Kylo opens his mouth to respond, but the sound of approaching footsteps sends him scrambling for his fallen helmet. He’s only just gotten it on when the ‘trooper appears.

“Sirs,” he says, “message from the Bridge. They say they’ve located the map to Luke Skywalker. It’s on the planet Jakku.”

Hux instructs the ‘trooper to tell the Bridge to chart a course, and Kylo feels his breath escape him.

Maybe good things do happen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next Time: Jakku, Finn's first battle, and the charismatic Poe Dameron.  
> Thanks for reading!  
> Also, don't think I've mentioned it around these parts, but you can find me over on tumblr at glaregryphon.tumblr.com if you want to yell at me about stuff.


	5. Into Battle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Finn gets a clue and goes on his first mission.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the chapter where I start to hurt them.  
> I am sorry.  
> But I must.

According to Hux, Jakku should be nothing in the grand scheme of things. A desert planet on the Outer Rim filled with scavengers and sand-dwellers and the skeletal remains of an era past. The place where Star Destroyers go to die. But somewhere down there is everything they’ve been working toward since they boarded the _Finalizer_ , hidden away where no one would ever think to look.

The cool metal of the blaster is familiar in 87’s grip. He’s seated on the floor of Hux’s personal office, taking apart and meticulously cleaning each segment and listening with half an ear while the Alpha goes over the final checks before the mission goes live. The repetitive task is soothing, helping to distract 87 from his own nerves. This will be his first trip planetside since they left the Star Killer.

Jakku is not known for their military prowess. There is no official fleet, or centralized government of any kind. It’s a planet made of cobbled-together villages and trading outposts. They expect minimal resistance, which makes this mission low-risk. The perfect opportunity to _get his feet wet_ , as Hux had put it. 87 can think of several earlier missions that would have fit the same criteria, but it’s not his place to comment.

“I wish I could have gotten you a real lightsaber,” Kylo had said the night before, when they were sprawled out and panting on the mats after a final sparring session. “You would have done well with a lightsaber.”

87 isn’t so sure. There’s no denying that he’s getting better with that weapon, he’s even beginning to hold his own against Kylo, but it’s not the same as a blaster. Maybe later, when he’s better, when he’s truly used to the feel of the hilt in his hands, he’ll use a lightsaber. But he’s had a blaster in his hands for as long as he can remember, and wouldn’t trade it for any weapon in the galaxy on his very first deployment.

The final components of the baster fit neatly back together as the General sighs, scrubbing his hands over a tired face. 87 knows from months of following the Alpha around that even low-risk missions like this come with mountains of paperwork. Especially when they have such a high priority.

“That should be everything. You should report to the hanger, 2187.”

“Yes, sir.” 87 is anxious to go, to be moving, to be doing something other than waiting. He tucks his blaster back into its holster and makes for the door, only to be stopped short by a tight hand around his wrist.

“Wait,” the usually composed General sputters, looking quite red in the face when 87 turns to face him. It’s very noticeable against his space-pale complexion. And then the Alpha is stepping into his space, and 87 is struck by the conflicting urges to run and get closer. It’s truly unfair that Hux smells so nice. Hux catches 87’s face between his hands, exceedingly gentle, and 87 nearly startles when the General brushes his lips against the corner of 87’s mouth because oh. _Oh. That’s what this is about._

“Be safe, 2187” Hux murmurs, looking unbearably fond, and finally releases the omega to stumble from the room with his mind in a haze.

Looking back, it’s so obvious. The promotion, the gifts, the lessons, _oh stars_. No wonder everyone on the Destroyer thought he’d slept his way into an officer’s uniform. Kriff, he must have been the only one who hadn’t noticed that General Hux was… Was…

There’s a panic bubbling up that has nothing to do with the upcoming mission, and it only gets worse when he gets to the hangar.

Kylo catches him before he gets into the transport. 87 can’t see past his mask, but the concern is evident in his voice. “Are you alright?”

“Just nerves, sir.”

“It’ll be fine,” Kylo says, and this time 87 does start when the Alpha takes his hand, twining their fingers together. If Kylo notices, he doesn’t comment. “Just stick close to me.”

87 manages a shaky nod, and the Alpha squeezes his fingers briefly before pulling away and making for his own transport.

Twenty-two standard years of repetition, comfortable and familiar. 87 would live for the First Order, die for the First Order, and nothing unexpected ever happened.

Why couldn’t year twenty-three have been the same?

\--

The simulations can prepare you for a number of combat’s elements. They can teach you formations, they can teach you to shoot straight, they can even teach you to ignore the crack of blaster fire.

What they can’t prepare you for is the smell.

87 has barely made it down the ramp of his transport when the smell hits him. Smoke and dry earth and the sharp char of burning flesh. There’s no mask between 87 and smell. Each inhale makes him dizzy, the air thick with fear and death. And then there’s the screaming—another thing the simulations hadn’t covered. Children wailing for their mothers, agonized cries as the village’s inhabitants are cut down in droves. The Flametrooper’s fire burns bright and hot as it spreads. Something in 87 catches; sticks like a jammed blaster.

 _He can’t do this_.

The thought swells from a quiet murmur into a deafening cry, drowning out the screams of his training. Years of doctrine gone in the span of a heartbeat, burned away by a pulsing, molten light.

 _Minimal resistance_ , Hux had said, _low risk_.

There are villagers dying all around him, fighting to defend the lives they’ve managed to carve for themselves in this desolate wasteland. They’ve done nothing but try to protect that which they hold dear. Mothers, fathers, even children. Stormtroopers fall as well, dying for a cause they can’t fully understand. There will be no acknowledgement of their death. Just another nameless face sacrificed for a questionable greater good.

A trooper collapses, and 87 doesn’t have to be told that it’s Slip. He doesn’t know how, but he knows before he’s even reached the man’s side. There’s a gaping hole in his armor, in his chest, and his blood smears along the Omega’s skin when Slip reaches up to touch him.

87 can’t _breathe_.

There’s a man walking toward a newly-landed shuttle, Kylo’s shuttle, calm and poised and strong in the face of the horrors around him. 87 might not have noticed him if not for the whirr of the shuttle’s ramp descending drawing his attention from Slip’s broken body.

Kylo descends in flurry of black robes, tall and intimidating. 87 hasn’t seen him this way in months. He’s come to know the soft man who delights when 87 manages to knock him off his feet; the man with sweat-damp locks who lays on the cool of the mats by his side and pants with the efforts of their training; the man who would teach a lowly Stormtrooper to wield a lightsaber because he was deemed _worthy_. 87 is scared of what the future holds for him with the realization of their courtship, but he’s even more terrified of the monster who cuts down an unarmed man in an arc of jagged crimson.

They capture a Resistance pilot. Troopers drag the man into Kylo’s shuttle, the Alpha following close behind. He stops at the base of the ramp, and 87 knows that Kylo is seeking him. He feels the tendrils of something murky reaching out before he catches the Alpha’s gaze. 87’s heart leaps into his throat, but the Alpha turns and enters the ship without acting and the turmoil the Omega can feel in the dark that brushes against him.

87 doesn’t have to read mind to know that Kylo _knows_. What, he’s not sure, but he’s certain the Alpha knows that something has changed.

Phasma gives the order to kill the remaining villagers and 87 can do nothing but stand back and allow the Stormtroopers to follow her command, his own blaster loose in his fingers.

He’s told to report to Kylo’s quarters when they arrive back at the Finalizer, and for a moment he almost does. Each step feel like he’s trekking through mud but he makes himself go because at least Kylo may make his death quick rather than the suffering he may face for disobeying orders. But then he catches sight of himself in the reflection of the hall’s polished metal, sees Slip’s blood streaked across his face, and that swell of _something_ rears its head again and roars. He _can’t_. _He can’t do this anymore_.

He needs to escape.

He needs a pilot.

How fortunate they’ve just captured one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I forgot to mention that I am going out of town for a funeral this weekend. Probably no more updates until Monday :(


	6. Escape: Part 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is shorter than usual. This segment was intended to be half of the next update, I'm actually out of town to attend a funeral and hadn't intended to post until Monday, but I have briefly gotten access to some WIFI and decided to go ahead and share what I've got! Hope it's alright!

As far as plans go, 87’s is not the most developed.

Step 1: Free the pilot.

Step 2: ???

It won’t stop him, though. He can still feel the light he’d discovered on Jakku glowing ember-warm in his chest. It’s a comforting feeling that convinces him, more than any internal pep talk could, that he’s doing the right thing in running. The right thing is a new concept to the once-Stormtrooper, but one he finds he’s quickly growing attached to. He can do this. He has to.

What other choice is there?

Slip’s blood stains the water pink when 87 washes it clean, carrying the last of his doubts and fears with it as it sluices down the drain.

Freeing the pilot is almost laughably easy. Kylo has already finished his interrogation and is undoubtedly heading back to his quarters to meet an Omega that will never come, Hux is still on the Bridge, and the two ‘troopers guarding the door don’t question his barked order of, “General Hux needs the prisoner.”

Why would they? It’s apparently common knowledge that Officer FN-2187-O is General Hux’s Omega; and when he’s not, he’s Kylo Ren’s Omega. Either title is enough of a reason to hand the Resistance pilot over without a second thought. Besides, it’s not like treason is even an option considered by the average Stormtrooper.

“Why are you doing this?” the pilot, a Beta with a wary look in his eye, asks when 87 has tucked them away into an empty service corridor. His suspicion is well-founded, but 87 can see a flicker of hope behind his eyes. He thinks he and this pilot might just get along fine.

“Because it’s the right thing to do,” 87 tells him, and saying the words out loud strokes the warm _thing_ that’s taken up residence where his heart should be. He’s doing it—the right thing. It’s liberating.

“You need a pilot,” the pilot guesses, and 87 deflates a bit, but doesn’t disagree.

In the face of the Beta’s skepticism, “I need a pilot,” is better than _I’m being courted by two of the First Order’s finest and need a way out_.

Then the pilot is smiling at him, bright and brilliant and 87 can’t help but answer it with one of their own. The Once-Stormtrooper and the Resistance Pilot. They were going to do this, and if they were very lucky, they may even live to tell the tale.

\--

The dark, murky thing brushes against the edge of 87’s awareness as they make their way through the hanger. It’s questioning, curious. _Where are you?_ It asks. 87 bats it away and concentrates more intently on acting natural. Beside him, the pilot is the perfect image of a prisoner marching to his inevitable demise. 87 has half a thought to ask him whether he’s been a prisoner of the First Order before. The troops they pass continue to pay them no mind, even as 87 tucks the pilot into the cockpit of a TIE Fighter.

What had started as a soft brush is now a persistent nudge, growing stronger and more aggressive the longer they struggle with the fighter’s tether. He knows the moment Kylo Ren puts the pieces together because _Where are you?_ abruptly changes to _What are you doing?_ with the strength of Ren’s confusion and frustration behind it. Its force is near paralyzing, but then the Fighter comes loose of its tether and they’re out in open space. The connection grows weaker as the distance between them grows, and then the darkness is gone and 87 is blissfully alone in his head.

The Resistance pilot whoops and hollers in the kind of childish glee 87’s never experienced before now, and he quickly finds himself answering them with cheers of his own. The pilot cuts through the vast expanse of space with a precision 87 can only marvel at, dodging cannon fire gracefully and clearly reveling in his newfound freedom. Together they take out several of the Finalizer’s cannons, and then they’re speeding away.

“I’m Poe!” The pilot tells him, “Poe Dameron. What’s your name?”

“FN-2187-O.”

“FN-What!?” The pilot sputters, executing another flawless roll to avoid an oncoming projectile. 87 shoots it down when it whizzes past.

“That’s the only name they ever gave me!”

“Well I’m not calling you that. FN, huh? Finn. How about Finn?”

And just like that, he has a name. Just like that he’s someone instead of something. He’s not FN-2187-O, or the General’s Omega, or Kylo Ren’s Omega. He’s his own person. He’s Finn, and he’s free.

If freedom is crashing through the Jakku atmosphere in cockpit filled with smoke, cursing a BB-Unit somewhere down on the planet’s desolate surface, Finn would still take it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next Time: Alpha Panic x2


	7. Panic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alpha Panic x2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edit 1: I have turned anonymous commenting back on. After considering it for a bit, I've decided it's not fair to revoke a privilege for everyone based on the actions of a few.  
> That being said, I have decided to start using comment moderation. While none of the comments leading up to this have targeted me or my writing specifically, I don't want anybody else to get hurt because someone couldn't keep their negative opinion about a character/ship to themselves. So if your comment doesn't appear immediately, don't panic! It's just waiting on my approval.  
> We're all here to have fun, and I'd rather any nay-saying be taken out on me than all of you.
> 
> Anyhow, now that the Serious Business is done with, please enjoy!

Kylo Ren is admittedly paying less attention to the interrogation of the Resistance pilot that he should be. The _Finalizer_ ’s official interrogator is in with the man now, no doubt whittling away at the man with the usual barrage of physical abuses. Kylo would usually have preferred to simply get it over with, to rip through the pilot’s mind with cold, murky claws and extract the information they needed. Today, though he has something else on his mind.

The Omega, 2187. Something had happened on Jakku’s surface. He felt it when the shuttle was landing. One moment there’d just been him, a lone star of power in the desert’s vast emptiness, and the next something had roared to life. It was bright and pure and _beautiful_ ; nearly startling in the suddenness of its appearance.

Imagine his pleasure when disembarking to trace that light to its source and discover it coming from 2187. His Omega, his beautiful-powerful-so-so-smart Omega, Force-sensitive. If it were possible for Kylo to fall harder for the man, he certainly had in that moment. A world of new possibilities opened up before him, and the only thing standing in the way of that future is the map to Skywalker. He can’t help but seek out that light and brush against it as they depart, Resistance pilot in tow. He calls for someone to command 2187 to his quarters. They have much to discuss in the face of this revelation.

The pilot is stubborn, Kylo will give him credit for that, but he is nothing in the face of Kylo’s power. The Alpha drags the answers from his unwilling mind, reveling in the Beta’s screams. The map is in a droid—a BB-Unit, orange and white. Somewhere down on the surface. It won’t be difficult to locate it. A droid would have headed to the nearest settlement, and any scavenger worth their salt would trade the unit for the bounty the First Order has issued on it without a second thought. They should have it by end of day at the latest.

With the information in its way to relevant parties, Kylo heads in the direction of his quarters with an uncharacteristic spring in his step. The ‘troopers he passes are all the more eager to get out of his way for the unusual mood. He feels light, breathless, their whole future laid out before him like a roadmap. He’ll take 87 on as his padawan. His Omega will learn the ways of the Dark Side of the Force and, with the support of Hux and his Stormtroopers, they will destroy Luke Skywalker and the Resistance together. He’d practically giddy just thinking about it.

2187 isn’t at his quarters when he arrives. That’s fine. Perhaps the Omega is cleaning up after the battle. Kylo is content to wait a moment longer. What are a few minutes apart now the stars have decreed them partners, destined for a togetherness very few will ever reach? He reaches out to the light he can feel, a communicating his curiosity with a gentle nudge to 2187’s consciousness.

He’s surprised when he feels it, a wall between the Omega and himself. It’s as though 2187 is trying to block him out. The second time he tries, and each subsequent attempt after, gets harder and harder as the light fights back against his probing. Then sirens are blaring and the Alpha can hear the heavy fall of boots as they run up and down the halls.

Emerging from his quarters, he catches a passing officer by the arm.

“What is happening?” Kylo demands.

“Unauthorized departure in one of the hangars, sir! Someone is trying to run.”

Kylo sucks in a sharp breath, releasing the officer in his surprise. This is why 2187 wasn’t answering him; why the Omega never reported to his quarters. He was trying to run.

Kylo turns and makes his way in the direction of the Bridge, a storm of turmoil raging inside him.

\--

Hux is on the Bridge when it happens. The mission has, up to this point, been a success. They've captured a Resistance pilot, placed a bounty on the droid, and 2187 had successfully completed his first mission. Ren reported him unharmed but for his newly awakened Force-sensitivity. Hux isn't entirely sure how he feels about this new talent, but he can feel Kylo's satisfaction thrumming bright and happy through the bond.

He can see the pictures, too. Images of 2187 in traditional Sith garb flit from Kylo's mind into his own. The Omega stands poised at Kylo's side, a crimson lightsaber in hand, the bodies of Resistance fighters strewn at their feet. And behind them, a king before his army of perfect black and white soldiers, is Hux himself. In Kylo's mind, he looks otherworldly. In Kylo's mind, he could be a god.

Hux feels the air rush from his lungs. This is the future the other Alpha sees for them. This is what Kylo Ren wants. The three of them, ruling the galaxy at each other's side. A perfect universe. Hux nearly sobs with the beauty of it.

Blaring alarms snap him from the vision, dragging him unwillingly back to the present.

"What is happening?" He snarls at the nearest technician.

"Unauthorized departure in Hanger Bay 5, General."

The sudden shift in Hux's bond is enough to momentarily throw him off. The soft glow of Kylo's happiness is suddenly a turbulent storm: confusion and frustration and rage so powerful it hurts. He's desperately scrambling for his complexion against the chaos when another officer appears at his side.

"Crew on the hanger confirm, sir, it's the Resistance pilot. And an as of yet unidentified officer."

Kylo Ren prowls into the Bridge then.

"Is it the pilot?"

"And one of our number. We're running checks to see who-"

"2187," Kylo hisses, and Hux feels his stomach hit the floor.

FN-2187-O had freed the Resistance pilot. Kylo's sudden swing in mood suddenly made far too much sense. Their future had taken Beta rebel and fled; chosen to die with the Resistance instead of reigning with the Order. The rejection hurts, Force, it HURTS.

"Sirs, they've been hit!" A technician calls, and Hux isn't sure whether it's his heart or Ren's that misses a beat. Terror, pure and blinding and maybe belonging to them both, propels him to the technician's terminal.

"Have they been destroyed?" He asks, breathless, and the brief seconds between the question and its answer symbolize perhaps the most afraid Hux has ever been. He can feel Kylo hovering just at his shoulder.

"No, sir. Just disabled."

"Trajectory predicts they'll land in Gozan Badlands," another technician interjects.

Hux nods sharply, and Kylo is rigid at his back.

"Send a party down to retrieve them. Alive, if at all possible."

A chorus of confirmation resounds, and the technicians scurry to begin preparations for a landing party. They're competent enough to handle the majority of the plans themselves, having trained under Hux for some time now, and he's confident enough to leave them to it for a short while. Kylo follows him out of the bridge, a silent, brooding shadow that sticks close all the way to Hux's quarters. He's barely gotten the door closed behind them when he hears Kylo's helmet clatter to the ground and the other alpha is crowding him up against the door.

Kylo's grips tight to his uniform, breathing ragged and uneven against Hux's face when the taller man presses his forehead to Hux's. Their bond burns with confusion and stinging betrayal. Kylo is shaking when Hux takes hold of his shoulders, squeezing slightly in hopes of comforting.

"We'll find him," he murmurs, "we'll find him, and we'll fix this."

Hux isn't sure which of them he's reassuring.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for the supporting this fic so far! It's so exciting to read all of your comments and hear that you're enjoying this as much as i'm enjoying writing it.  
> I mean, 2,500+ views? 200+ Kudos? That's incredible! I never expected this little story to get this much traction! It means a lot to me.  
> I'll also remind you again that Acantha, who this work is gifted to, wrote the prompt i'm filling and is also writing her own version! Please go check out their take on this prompt, because it's a great story and so much fun to read!  
> Thanks again, everyone!


	8. Enter: Rey

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A hike through Jakku, the quest for water, and an unfortunate run-in with a hostile local.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Brought to you by: the iphone notes app and the car ride back home. Man am I happy to be out of that vehicle.  
> Some of the dialogue is probably wrong. I have the novelization out in my car, but quite frankly, i'm too lazy to go back outside now that i've sat down.  
> Thanks for reading!

Sprawled in the hot Jakku sand, staring at the empty place where the TIE Fighter used to be, Poe's jacket clutched tightly in his hands, Finn feels helpless. He's not afraid of the isolation. He's been more or less alone for most of his life, if not in the physical sense. Loneliness is an old hat. But the desert stretches out endlessly in all directions, Poe Dameron is lost to the earth, and Finn is helpless to know what to do.

He's free. He got out. He probably should have thought a couple more steps ahead.

For now, though, he picks a direction and starts marching. His hat was lost in the crash, and the outer layers of his uniform are soon dumped into the sand. The heavy greatcoat, the accompanying uniform shirt, everything but his slacks and black undershirt. The Jakku sun is merciless, and he uses Poe Dameron's jacket as a barrier between himself and it.

He isn't entirely sure why he's holding onto it, but the though of abandoning it to the harsh desert puts him ill at ease. Poe Dameron, with his wild grin and messy hair. Poe Dameron, who'd seen him as a person and given him a name. Finn feels his gut clench at sorrow at the though of his loss. Perhaps that's why he's kept the coat--a last-ditch effort to keep some piece of the pilot with him. At the very least, he can return it to Poe's loved ones. A man with Poe Dameron's smile undoubtedly has loved ones waiting for him. That the Beta will never return to them sends a fresh pang of grief through him.

The desert is vast, seemingly endless. There are several moments when Finn nearly surrenders to it, nearly collapsed into the sand and lets it consume him. He doesn't, though. He's free, he's free because of Poe Dameron's sacrifice, so each time he clutches tighter to the worn leather and forces himself to keep moving. One foot in front of the other; there's something for him to live for now. There's a million things to live for, if he thinks back on his sanitation days—thoughts consumed by a galaxy of endless choices. He can choose them all, if only he keeps moving. He can return this jacket to Poe Dameron's family. He can tell them of his bravery and his sacrifice. They can be proud of him.

Finn keeps walking.

There. There, at the bottom of the dune: a settlement. Finn stumbles downward with renewed vigor, hope swelling in his chest.

"Water?" He asks the villagers, stumbling from tent to tent, receiving answers in languages he's never heard before.

Then he hears it, the splashing that can only be water. A massive, quadrupedal beats hunkers over the pool, drinking in loud gulps. Finn nearly trips over himself in his haste, collapsing at the animal's side and taking large drags from the pool. The water is rancid, undoubtedly filled with Force only knows what, but Finn can't make himself care. He spent the better part of the day hiking through a literal desert, and it's water.

Commotion drags his attention from the pool, further aided by the animal, which knocks him aside as it shuffles about.

There is a woman, at her side is a very familiar droid, and they're surrounded. Finn's heart rushes to his throat when one of the aliens drops a tarp over the droid, his companion grabbing a hold of the girl. Finn's on his feet in an instant, thirst forgotten as he rushes to--do what exactly? He's not exactly in the best shape for a physical confrontation. He's still moving even as he thinks it, that instinct for the right thing driving him forward.

He's fortune, then, that his interference isn't needed. Finn stops short when the girl shakes herself free, turning on her attackers with vicious swings of her staff. They stumble, surprised by the ruthlessness of her attack, and soon both are dropped to the sand. The droid ceases its screaming when she removes the tarp, and as it reorients itself, its sensors land on Finn. It trills something up the girl, sounding alarmed even to the Omega's untrained ear. The girl's sharp gaze swivels to him, and this time the fear is for himself. He's running again, dodging vendors and their assorted wares as he cuts in and out of their tents. The footsteps of the girl fade, and for just a moment he dares to hope that he's lost her. Of course he hasn't; she materializes in front of him and clubs him with the staff, sending him sprawling into the dirt.

Freedom is painful, Finn decides.

She's an Alpha, he thinks as he looks up at the girl. Finn's spent enough time with Alphas to know them by their posture. And if not their posture, then definitely their scent. She smells dry and earthy, the way the desert smells. It's not nearly as nice as Kylo or Hux's scent.

What? Did he really just think that? He certainly didn't. He certainly wasn't thinking about them when there's so much in the free world he could be thinking about. Finn is so busy denying that thought that he completely misses when the Alpha starts to question him, only brought back to attention when the droid shocks him with one of its attachments.

"Ow! What? Stop that!" He sputters.

"That jacket! Where did you get it? This droid says that you stole it!"

Telling the pair, "I didn't steal it!" only earns him another dose of electricity.

"Where did you get it?" The alpha presses. "It belongs to his master!"

"It belonged to Poe Dameron. He was captured by the First Order. I helped him escape, but," Finn's stomach flip-flops again with grief, "Poe didn't make it."

The droid makes a miserable-sounding whirring noise and slinks away. The Alpha steps back to allow Finn space to rise. She's studying him, he can tell.

"You're an Omega," she says, sounding as though she hadn't expected it, "are you with the Resistance?"

It's another one of those instances when the truth, actually I'm fleeing two Alpha suitors who happen to be a few of the First Order's highest ranking officials, seems like a bad idea.

"Yes. I'm with the Resistance. I am with the Resistance."

It sounds terrible to his own ears, but the Alpha doesn't seem to care. She's studying him all the more intently, now. "I've never met a Resistance fighter before."

"Well, this is what we look like," Finn tells her, wincing at his own words. "I mean, some of us look different."

She nods, looking entirely too sagely for such a young woman, and informs him that the BB-8 unit is, indeed, the one that Finn suspected; that it's on a secret mission, and Finn needs to return it to his base. Her eyes grow wide at the mention of Luke Skywalker and for a moment he marvels at the wonder on her face. Finn thinks the enormity of that statement, that Luke Skywalker is real, hasn't really sunk in with him yet. In his defense, it's been a very long day.

BB-8 returns with an alarmed whine, directing them toward the entrance of the outpost where two Stormtroopers are being pointed in their direction by the men who'd gone after the droid earlier. Finn doesn't think before he's grabbing the Alpha's hand, running the opposite direction. Blaster fire follows.

"What do you think you're doing?" She sputters, attempting to wrench her hand from his grip. "Let go of my hand!"

He pulls her into the temporary shelter of a tent, releasing her hand in favor of rifling through bins of scrap metal in hopes of finding some kind of weapon.

"What is going on?" The Alpha demands. "Why are they shooting at us?"

"They saw you with me. You're marked." Finn throws another useless scrap down in frustration. "Does nobody carry blisters around here!?"

Finn's not listening to the Alpha as she continues her demands for explanation. A faint noise has caught her attention, and he cups a hand around her mouth to silence her while he listens.

Engines, he realizes. Finn takes the Alpha’s hand once more and drags her from the tent, only a heartbeat before it’s shredded by the cannons of a TIE Fighter.


	9. Enter: Han Solo

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As the title implies.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> With the introduction of Han, I've updated the relationship tags! Luke/Han/Leia might not be your thing, but Bisexual Polyamorous Han Solo is my thing, so i'm throwing it in here in all its glory.

It only takes Han a moment to find the crew aboard his stolen freighter. An Alpha and an Omega crammed into one of his smuggling compartments, an orange and white droid tucked into the space between them. They’ve got oxygen masks on, the Alpha’s fingers still grappling with the tape she’d been trying to remove when Chewie had pulled the floor panel away. They’re a rather unremarkable crew to be piloting a stolen legend in their possession, but they swear up and down that they’re the only souls aboard. For some reason, Han believes them.

He and his copilot study the unusual pair as they lift the droid from the compartment and scramble out after it. The Alpha is a woman, though she appears barely old enough to wear the title, cloaked in desert garb fitting for Jakku, which she cites as her planet of origin. Han knows enough about desert-dwellers to accept this as the truth. She moves with an efficiency rarely seen on more developed worlds, not a movement wasted. She watches them with a sharp eye while the omega pulls himself upright, undoubtedly assessing them for threats. She and the Omega carry traces of each other’s scent, but not anything strong enough to signify a bonded pair.

And then there’s the Omega. Han prides himself on his ability to read people, it’s a necessary skill in the smuggling business, but the dark-skinned Omega makes little sense to him. While the Alpha is hardly a slip of a woman, all lean muscle and sharp angles typical of desert peoples, the same could not be said for the Omega. He’s muscular in a way that points to regular training and a healthy diet—impossibilities on a planet as desolate as Jakku. What’s more is his clothing, the grey-black hues inappropriate for a desert climate. The slacks, though now caked with sand and sweat, are a fine material that would probably be worth more than what his companion could make in a month. The man doesn’t understand a lick of anything beyond Galactic Basic, and looks incredibly out of is depth.

A small part of Han wonders how they wound up together in his ship.

A larger part of him doesn’t really care, and intends to stuff them in a pod with coordinates to the nearest inhabited planet. Then, of course, the girl says the magic words: _Luke Skywalker_.

The memories surface before Han can stop them: dusty blond hair and a wide, reckless smile; Leia’s warmth pressed along one side and _his_ against the other; a small, blond girl pursued through the ornate halls of the Senate by a laughing, dark-haired boy, shrieking in delight when he catches her and hoists her up into his arms; the cloying scents of blood and fear and death that linger as Han stand amongst the ruins of a once-grand temple, Chewie scrambling to catch him when his knees give out below the crushing weight of grief.

Han halts in his retreat to the cockpit, lost momentarily to the depths of his own mind.

“You are the Han Solo that fought with the Rebellion,” the Alpha says, but it’s softer this time, as though sensing his distress.

Han looks over his shoulder and tells them the honest truth, “I used to be.”

The Rebellion General, the hero, the best version of Han, had long since ceased to be. That Han has been swallowed up by the same cold, dark thing that consumed his Skywalker, his cubs, his Leia. In seedy bars and back alleys, they no longer tell stories of the war and his smuggling days. What’s whispered instead is the tale of a future gone up in smoke—of the Alpha who lost two loving mates and two beautiful cubs in one fell swoop. Han sees the pity in their eyes when they look at him. Maybe that’s why he finds himself doing business with such criminals as the Guavian Death Gang. They don’t pity him—all they care about is their money.

Their money now happens to be the reason they’ve tracked Solo halfway across the galaxy. The girl and her companion are stowed safely below the floor, but he can’t help the rush of irrational possessiveness that comes with the thought of letting the droid out of his sight. The little contraption is carry a map to Luke, _his_ Luke, and with it the hope that maybe Han can repair some of pieces of what he’s lost. Maybe if he can find Luke, maybe if he and Leia can convince the wayward Omega to come home, maybe the aching void that sits heavy in Han’s chest will shrink. Maybe then they could face the losses of Ben and Breha together. He tries to play it off as casual when the Gang demands the droid from him, but he can tell by the look in their eyes that it’s not a very good act. The mention of the fugitives only prods more at the Alpha aggression he keeps so carefully in check.

Then the Rathtar, and consequently all hell, breaks loose.

 _Remember, remember,_ something in Han’s mind is saying. The Rathar are loose and Chewie’s taken a blaster bolt to the shoulder and that insistent thing in his head just won’t shut up.

 _Remember, remember, you’re missing something, Han_.

He’s not sure what he’s missed, surely there’s nothing he could have missed, but it’s a niggling sensation that only worsens when the fugitives return, when they haul Chewie into the Falcon, when they shoot off into hyperspace straight from the hanger.

_Remember, remember._

The girl’s hands fly over the console like they were made to, easily keeping up with Han despite the old ship’s unorthodox controls. There’s a warning siren blaring, and when the young Alpha turns to rifle through the wiring, Han gets his first clear look at her hair: three neat, dusty blond buns.

 _Remember, remember_.

And no, it can’t be. Han Solo doesn’t have this sort of luck anymore. On the Death Star, on Hoth, and on Endor maybe, but that pool of incredible luck has long since run dry. But she’s giving him a familiar reckless grin, the compressor’s wiring clamped tight in her hand, and in the close quarters of the cockpit he can’t avoid her scent. It’s sandy and dry in the way of desert peoples, but when he concentrates he can smell something underneath it—something vast and wild, like trapped space. And that scent Han knows as well as his own. He’s been captivated by it from the moment a shaggy-haired moisture farmer sat down at his table in a Mos Eisley bar.

“What’s your name, kid?” Han asks, breathless, once they’re finally settled in hyperspace. He barely dares to allow himself to hope.

“Rey,” she says with another bright grin, apparently unaware of what it does to Han’s poor, ragged heart. “My name’s Rey.”

“Rey,” it falls off his tongue like a prayer, a benediction, “it’s good to meet you.”

Han sends Rey back to the cabin to collect the Omega—Finn, she calls him—and to rest. She looks as though she’s been on her feet for ages, run ragged by a day filled with legends, and he doubts that Finn is any better off. They’ll be in hyperspace for a while yet, and Han can manage on his own until they reach Maz’s.

_“Ben! Rey!” A much younger Han calls down the hall, clothed in his Rebellion dress uniform. He hates it, tugging at the collar he swears is too tight until Leia bats his hands away, the Omega muttering about ruining her hard work. Luke is wearing a robe the color of a potato sack that he swears up and down is traditional Jedi garb, and Han supposes that it could be worse. Fortunately these meetings at the Senate are becoming less and less frequent as everything finally begins to settle._

_The children turn a corner and race to greet the trio, giggling. Ben puts on a burst of speed at the end, snatching Rey up off the ground as they near and carrying her the rest of the way while she shrieks in delight._

_“Ready to go home?” Han asks as Luke takes Rey from Ben, a fond smile tugging at the other Omega's lips. The Last Jedi does not excel at emotional detachment the way his predecessors have._

_No one notices when Ben Solo lags behind the group, brow furrowed, as he listens to a voice only he can hear._

\--

There are very few who know the true origins of Kylo Ren. There are whispers, of course, that he’s the product of a long-lost Jedi lineage; that he’s Snoke’s heir; that he’s the illegitimate grandchild of Darth Vader. This is the closest to the truth (and the theory he thinks Kylo likes the best), but no one knows that. No one but Snoke and Hux and the original Knights of Ren. As far as the rest of the galaxy is concerned, Ben Solo died in the massacre at Skywalker’s Jedi Temple.

It’s this knowledge that that gives Hux just enough time to tug the technician out of the range of Ren’s lightsaber when the message is delivered that FN-2187-O and the droid and the Alpha they’d fled with are on board the _Millennium Falcon_ with _Han Solo_.

“Don’t kill the messenger,” Hux scolds, sending the offending technician on his way with a wave of his hand, “it’s bad for morale.”

He knows Kylo isn’t listening, though. The other Alpha’s mind is a crimson rage that matches the lightsaber biting into the nearest console—that shreds through the metal and wiring like paper. Hux frown at the damage, at the rising figure in his head of how much it’ll cost to repair, but reasons it better to allow his mate to vent his frustrations on the inanimate rather than Hux’s soldiers.

Honestly, all of the criminals in the galaxy, and 2187 has somehow managed to find his way to Han Solo. If Hux had ever held doubts as to the power of the Force, this would have certainly ended them.

Finished with his tantrum, Kylo stomps from the Bridge—likely to seek guidance from Darth Vader’s ruined mask. Hux’s troops visibly relax with his mate’s departure, and Hux allows himself to sink into his work. There are preparations still to be made for the testing of the super weapon and a never-ending flow of paperwork concerning day to day life, from budget allotments to weapons acquisitions. He’s not sure how long he works until his new aid appears to deliver a message. This Beta is not as good as 2187, but perhaps his opinion is slightly bias.

“Sir,” the officer says, “we’ve received a message. The droid and the fugitives have been identified on Takadona, at a cantina run by Maz Kanata.”

“Prepare to deploy troops to Takadona,” Hux commands, feeling Ren’s growing anticipation through the bond. Someone has been sent to inform him as well. “I want out best squadrons prepared for a landing party.”

“Sir, with respect, we’re due at Starkiller for the test of the super weapon,” the man sputters.

“The Hosnian system will still be there when the fugitives are captured,” Hux snarls, “now go!”

The officer is almost out the door when Hux calls after him, “And I want the fugitives captured alive!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time:  
> I hope you're ready for some  
> [puts on shades]  
> Canon Divergence.  
> [I turn the wheel; this train goes careening of its tracks. Everyone is screaming.]
> 
> On a completely separate note: My mom came home with a Kylo Ren window decal for me because she knows how much I love my garbage son. Thanks, mom.


	10. Takadona: Part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We meet Maz and truths are revealed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is officially my most-viewed fic! Way to go guys! I never believed this would get the reception it has, and I'm delighted to know you're all enjoying the ride ;v;  
> This is where things start to diverge from the canon!

Maz’s Cantina is a whirlwind of color and activity. Finn’s eyes are wide as he tries to take it all in, but he doubt that even the alien he spots at a table with a truly startling number of eyes could observe everything happening around the bar. Dozens of different species mill about the space, drinking or playing games or talking in an equally diverse number of languages over the upbeat music of the band in one corner. Finn’s never heard music before, beyond the marches of the First Order, and can help but be captivated by the tune. The colorful flags of more planets than Finn can name are hung on the roof and coat the walls along with photos and artifacts from worlds unknown. This is the kind of place the First Order would despise—chaos incarnate. When he looks over at Rey, the Alpha’s expression of wonderment mirrors his own.

Maz herself is a small, wrinkly thing with thick goggles that make her eyes appear almost comically large. She’s over a thousand years old, if Han is to be believed, and greets the smuggler with open arms. The various trinkets hanging from her belt rattle together as she leads the group toward a secluded table, Finn and Ray shuffling dutifully along behind Han. Finn briefly wonders if it would be inappropriate to take Ray’s hand; he feels that if he strays too far, he may get lost in the crowd and never find his way back.

“What do you need now, Han?” Maz asks once they’re safely seated at a table.

If Maz or Han notice the way Finn and Rey stare at the food set before them, they thankfully do not comment. Finn has no idea what to do with any of it, having lived off a diet of protein cakes and colorful nutrient pastes. Rey digs in with only a moment’s hesitation, eating with the urgency of those who’ve missed meals before and know better than pass over food when it comes. Finn follows her lead, eating the same foods as Rey because at least he knows these are safe for human consumption. He doesn’t think their host would give them something poisonous, but would rather be safe than sorry. Sometimes Rey will halt mid-chew and assist Finn in breaking open a difficult fruit or point out something she thinks he might like, quickly picking up on his difficulties even without knowing their origin. Neither of them are really listening to Maz and Han’s conversation.

“—if we can find Luke, Maz, we might just have a chance in this war.” Han is saying, which snaps Finn’s attention away from Rey peel a particularly spiky-looking fruit with astonishing ease.

“What war?” Rey asks.

“The war against the Dark Side,” Maz says solemnly, “the only war that matters. First the Sith, then the Empire, and now the First Order.”

The First Order. With the chaos of the Rathtars and their escape, with the peaceful sleep he’d gotten on the Falcon, with the excitement of all the _new_ in the Cantina, Finn is ashamed to realize that for a little while, he’d almost forgotten why he was running in the first place. Reality crashes back down around him, and suddenly it feels like he can’t get enough air. He’s a traitor to the First Order—a renegade Stormtrooper in way over his head. He’s not fit for an Officer’s rank or a place among the Resistance. There are two of the galaxy’s most powerful Alphas pursuing him and he, for the life of him, can’t understand why. Finn isn’t entirely sure what spills out of his mouth, but it prompts Maz to begin adjusting her goggles and leaning into his personal space.

“When you’ve lived long enough, you see the same eyes in different people,” Maz explains. “I’m looking at the eyes of a man who wants to run.”

Finn wants to get defensive. He wants to argue with this strange little alien with her too-big eyes that see too much and to tell her that she’s wrong, but he knows she’s not.

What he says instead is, “I can’t fight them. I can’t. What other option is there but to run?”

“Finn!” Rey gapes, sounding scandalized. “What about the Resistance? What about your mission?”

“It’s not my mission,” he hisses, cheeks burning with the admission, “it was Poe Dameron’s mission! I’m not even with the Resistance!”

Maz and Han are watching him closely, but there’s to trace of when they might be thinking on their faces. He’s had the sneaking suspicion that Han knew more than he was letting on since meeting the Alpha, but had seemed content to allow Finn to reveal his past on his own time. Being but on the spot like this, to be forced to lay his cards on the table by a woman he’s barely met, that humiliation _stings_. It’s almost as bad as Rey’s look of shock and confusion and dare he say fear. The Alpha hasn’t been scared of anything, she’s been Finn’s touchstone through this ordeal, but she’s looking at him now and she is _afraid_ because he’s not the man she thought he was. Her fear _hurts_ —more than anything the First Order could ever do to him.

“I’m just a Stormtrooper,” he manages to spit out, barely audible over the chaos of the bar. Shame wells up inside him and constricts his throat, making him fight to get every hated word out, “I’m just a Stormtrooper in way over my head. I didn’t know—”

Here his words fail him, just for a moment. Finn slumps further into his seat, dropping his head into his hands to avoid looking at the betrayed expression on Rey’s face. He struggles to collect his thoughts, and when he tries to speak again, the words come out ragged and disjointed with his growing hysteria.

“—I thought they were just being nice. The General and Kylo Ren—” Finn misses the way Han Solo stiffens across the table, unable to force himself to look at them for his shame, “—I didn’t know! They don’t teach us!”

Finn can’t find the words he needs to communicate his meaning, scrambling through his limited vocabulary for something that makes sense. It seems he doesn’t need to, though, when a hand is laid on top of his own shaking one, squeezing gently. Maz is there with her too-big eyes and they look so _sad_ that Finn wants to reassure her, even though he’s not sure what he should be reassuring her about.

“Oh, child…” she murmurs, “you are so lost.”

And then Rey’s taking his other hand, and that fear is still there but there’s something else, too. Determination, Finn thinks. She squeezes his hand in a mirror of Maz’s gesture, a wobbly smile gracing her lips.

“We’ll help you, Finn,” Ray tells him, and he’s thankful for her confidence, “whatever you need, we’ll help you.”

\--

Rey excuses herself from the table after everything settles, Maz following shortly afterwards, leaving Finn alone at with Han Solo. The Alpha hasn’t said anything on the matter of Finn’s deceit, and is looking at him with an expression Finn can’t decipher, taking deep swigs of whatever bottled drink Maz had supplied before she left. Finn suspects something strong and alcoholic.

“Kylo Ren was courting you,” Ha finally says, and it’s almost a question.

Finn doesn’t really want to talk about it, but he’s getting the feeling that Han needs him to. He’s not sure why, but he thinks this might be _important_ to the Alpha, even if Finn can’t understand it. So he nods, waiting for the questions that will undoubtedly come, now that he’s opened the door.

He’s not expecting Han’s hushed, “Did he hurt you?”

“Just once, when we first met,” Finn admits, trying and failing to ignore the way Han’s hand, which had been resting on the tabletop, clenches at the words. Finn smells blood and realizes that Han’s cut himself with his own nails. “I surprised him!” The Omega sputters, “I surprised him is all! He stopped when he realized I was—”

He’s not sure what he was, but it made Kylo Ren release him. He remembers the feeling of leather ghosting over the sensitive, developing bruises and shivers at the memory.

“He shouldn’t have hurt you at all,” Han growls, still looking very unhappy, but he’d released the tight fist and laid his hand back on the table. Finn can see where the blood from his palm has smeared on the surface. “He shouldn’t have hurt a compatible Omega at all.”

“Compatible?” Finn asks. He’s heard the word used before, but no one has ever explained to him what it means. Stormtroopers took suppressants of all kind and relationships were discouraged, so no one ever really bothered to teach them about relationships and courting and things like that.

“Compatibility. It’s when something in your biology makes you a good match for somebody else. Some people call it soulmates, but…” Finn can understand why Han is hesitant to refer to it that way. He does know what a soulmate is. “Anyways, you can usually tell you’re compatible with someone because of the way they smell. It’s usually good—better than anything else you’ve ever smelled.”

“Is it possible to be compatible with more than one person?” He asks, remembering Hux’s not-quite-Kylo-but-still-just-as-good scent.

“It is,” Han says, “but it’s rarer. I’m compatible with two Omegas. Some people are compatible with two Alphas, or with only the same gender. It just depends on the person.”

It’s starting to make a little more sense, now. Why Kylo had stopped hurting him, why he’d had Finn running messages to Hux all those times. The first time they’d met, Kylo had realized they were compatible. It was common knowledge that Hux and Kylo were mates, so it made sense that he would be compatible with Hux, too.

“Do you have to bond to the people you’re compatible with?”

Han’s gaze, which has been skittering anywhere but Finn through most of the conversation, is firm on him when he answers. “No. You don’t have to bond with anybody, if you don’t want to.”

Finn fully intends to think more on that topic, on his compatibility with Hux and Ren and _bonding_ , but doesn’t get the chance. Something like a wave of blinding light crashes into him, a sun suddenly blooming into existence. He can feel his own Light in his chest flare in answer, and knows instinctively that it’s Rey. Only she could shine so brightly.

She doesn’t stop when she nears them, though, passing by in a near sprint and making for the door with BB-8 hot on her tail. Finn and Han both call after her to no avail, and when they make to follow find the courtyard crowded with patrons staring out over the vast lake. Finn knows the oncoming shapes as well as he knows himself and feels his stomach drop. TIE Fighters and transports.

The First Order has found them.


	11. Takadona: Conclusion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 4k+ Hits! Ya'll rock!  
> This is a monster of a chapter I had intended to cut in half and deliver in two parts, but once it was all said and done, there really wasn't a great place to cut it.  
> I feel like you'll all be glad you've got it in one go once you start reading, anyways.  
> This is an apology in advance.

“There is a Light inside you,” Maz says as she presses the cool hilt of a lightsaber, a _real lightsaber_ , into Finn’s open palm. “Use it. It will guide you.”

The Cantina is crumbling under the Fighters’ barrage, the very earth shaking with the force of their attack. Finn can feel the terror of the people outside, the bloodlust of the ‘troopers, Maz’s calming presence. He can feel the Light, now that he’s reaching for it. It fills him up with that old feeling again, that _rightness_ , and knows that this is what he was meant to do.

“Use the Light, Finn, and you’ll never be lost again.”

Finn desperately hopes that she survives this attack, and that he gets to see her again.

“You know how to use that thing?” Han asks him when they’re poised behind Chewie, the Wookie using his massive strength to clear a path through the rubble out of the basement. The last piece falls with a resounding _thud_ , and the noises of battle flood in. Finn feels his heart race and runs his fingers along the hilt of the weapon until he finds the ignition switch. The blade that erupts is a bright, beautiful blue.

“Yeah,” he says a throws a wry smile at Han, “Kylo Ren taught me.”

The Alpha’s almost disbelieving laugh is the last thing Finn hears before he launches himself into the fray.

A real lightsaber is nothing like a training lightsaber, Finn decides. The blade is longer, to start, and definitely sharper, but there’s something else about it. It’s the way it fits in his hands, he decides when he’s cut down his third ‘trooper. It fits more solidly in his hands, with less need for awkward adjustments of grip in the way the training saber had. The weapon felt more like an extension of his will than anything he used before. There was a brief time in their sparring sessions when Kylo had tried to communicate that idea to Finn, but he hadn’t understood at the time. He understand now.

Finn is lethal with the weapon, but he takes no joy from the bodies he drops. These men and women were his brothers and sisters only a short time ago. He hates that he must kill them, but the Light still burns strong and bright so he lets it guide his movements. Han is nearby, the Light assures him, and Chewie. He can feel their energy, their adrenaline, can track it with some small part of his mind. And Rey—he can sense her too. A supernova of energy out in the woods, well away from the battle at the moment. She’s getting closer, though, with each passing second and Finn desperately wishes she would stay out there. At least that way she would stay safe.

He meets his first real challenge when Nines appears. The Alpha has always been skilled with a vibro-blade, and combined with an unparalleled stubbornness, he proves a competent opponent. Finn holds his own, Kylo Ren was not a lenient teacher, until he feels it. The darkness. Kylo Ren.

The pressure of the murky black tendrils against his mind throws him off just enough that Nines gets in a lucky shot and knocks the lightsaber from his hands. With the next blow, Finn’s back hits the dirt. Nines looms over him menacingly, and Finn realizes in that moment that the Alpha has no intention of stopping. He can hear Phasma's command, _bring 2187 in alive_ , ringing in Nines’ head, but the Alpha has no intention of following those orders. 2187 is a _filthy traitor_ and doesn’t deserve his mercy. The First Order shows no mercy. Nines raises his weapon and Finn flinches, eyes snapping closed against the imminent blow—

That never comes. A gurgling noise forces Finn’s eyes open, and he watches as Nines’ vibro-blade slips from his fingers. Protruding from the Stormtrooper’s chest is a familiar crimson blade. Finn scrambles backwards when the blade is removed, Nine’s body falling to meet his weapon. There, towering over him like some ancient god of death, is Kylo Ren. He’s panting slightly, the leather of his gloves pulled tight over straining knuckles from the Alpha’s grip on his saber. Finn can feel the Alpha’s consciousness brushing against his own, the poking and prodding leaving him disoriented. He’s not sure what Kylo is looking for, but he knows the inky black of the Alpha’s power makes the Light within him recoil.

Kylo takes a step forward and Finn heaves himself backward, attempting to keep the distance between them. He can’t do this, not now. He’s not prepared to deal with the Alpha and the consequences of the courtship. He’s not ready to go back to the First Order.

His fingertips finally brush against the cool metal of his lightsaber’s hilt, and Finn flicks the ignition on in warning. Kylo pauses in his approach, head cocking slightly to one side than Finn knows to mean he’s surprised. It gives Finn enough time to get his feet under him, to get upright. _Watch your footing_ , Kylo had always said, _you can’t fight if you’re not on your feet_. It feels wrong, somehow, to be using the Alpha’s own lessons against him. Kylo straightens up, takes another step forward, and Finn lunges.

\--

Kylo insisted on going with the landing party. He trusts Hux’s ‘troopers as far as he can throw them when it comes to such delicate matters as this, and the information that the BB-Unit carries is too important to be entrusted to them. And if he can collect their wayward Omega in the process, well, all the better for them.

Stepping down onto the Takadona earth is like a breath of fresh air. The sounds of war rage around him, the Stormtrooper’s blaster fire is like music to his ears, and there in the distance is the Light that only be 2187. He can’t help but brush up against it, to revel in that power. His Omega is truly strong with the Force.

“Sir, a girl and the droid were spotted entering the forest.” A ‘trooper informs him.

Kylo fully intends to pursue that lead, right up until the moment he feels it. A sharp spike of fear from 2187’s Force signature, followed by a near-deafening bloodlust. He’s moving before he even considers another option. The Stormtroopers have orders to take the fugitives alive, but Kylo Ren is a man who knows darkness. He knows this Stormtrooper, whoever he is, isn’t going to stop. Kylo feels it down in his bones, how much this man _hates_ 2187\. He fully intends to kill the Omega.

Kylo can not allow that to happen.

The sight of 2187 bruised and bloody in the dirt is enough to alight something primal and possessive under Kylo’s skin. Instinct as old as man itself roars to life, driving rational thought from his mind. This other Alpha who looms over his mate, who would dare to raise a weapon against Kylo’s Omega, who does he think he is? What gives him the right to think that he can take Kylo Ren’s Omega away without consequences?

There are any number of Force tricks Kylo could use. He could freeze the ‘trooper in place, he could use a mind trick to confuse him, he could simply send the man flying with the flick of a wrist. He does none of those things, however. Instead, he sinks his lightsaber to the hilt through the man’s chest and relishes in every shudder and gasp until his life force blinks out. It serves him right.

Then it’s just him. Just him and 2187. The battle around them doesn’t matter—had ceased to matter the moment Kylo realized that the Omega was in danger. He pauses a moment, studying his battered mate critically. His father had obviously taken at least somewhat decent care of him, during their time apart. This Kylo will begrudgingly admit. But he’s here now, and 2187 will no longer have to rely on that man for protection, nor the other Alpha he can feel out in the woods. Once they’re safely back on the _Finalizer_ , Hux can tend to the wounds Kylo can see, and the Omega can heal under their watchful eye.

Yes, Kylo decides he quite likes that plan.

He takes a step forward and 2187—fumbles backwards? That’s not right, the Omega should be grateful toward him. He has just saved his life, after all. But with every step forward, 2187 shuffles backwards, until the Omega’s fingers curl around a sleek metal cylinder. The lightsaber that springs to life in the Omega’s hands is vaguely familiar. It registers somewhere in the back of head that this weapon is important, but Kylo isn’t paying much attention to it.

2187 with a saber in his hands is as beautiful as Kylo expected. Sure the weapon is blue instead of red, but there’s no sense in fussing over minor details. He takes a moment to simply take it all in while the Omega gets his feet under him. Kylo steps forward again, and 2187 lunges.

Kylo blames the haze of Alpha instincts on how long it takes for him to realize that 2187 is attacking. He fumbles for his own weapon, but the instinct to _protect_ and _keep safe_ are enough to make his movements sluggish. The searing pain in his shoulder when 2187 lands his blow is enough to rip him back into rational thought.

They duel. Kylo is, perhaps irrationally, pleased to note that 2187 has at least taken something from their time together. He’s light on his feet, keeping up with Kylo’s barrage of blows with relative ease. He’s starting to tire, though, Kylo can feel it. If he can just wear the Omega down, just outlast him long enough to get him in a Force hold, then maybe…

The unthinkable happens. Kylo sees it coming a second too late, already in motion when 2187 stumbles over an unseen bit of debris and falls. Kylo’s saber falls where the Omega’s own weapon should be, but instead it finds the unprotected expanse of 2187’s back, cutting through cloth and flesh alike. Kylo can smell burning as the skin cauterizes with the pass, and thinks he’s going to be sick.

2187 hits the ground and doesn’t move, Kylo’s saber falling from limp fingers. _Oh Force, oh Force, oh Force_. It runs through his head on repeat where he stands, frozen in place, as he struggles to comprehend what has just happened. He can’t think, he can’t breathe, he can’t—

Oh Force, 2187.

The mask is first to go, toss thoughtlessly away as he drops to his knees at the man’s side. Next are the gloves, tucked into his belt. _You’re vulnerable like_ this, a nagging voice in his head says, _they can see your weakness._ He doesn’t care, not in this moment, not with what he’s just done. Shaking hands fumble for the Omega’s throat, desperate for a pulse. It’s there, by some miracle. It’s weak but it’s there and 2187 is alive.

Kylo doesn’t bother to retrieve the mask before he hauls 2187’s unconscious form up into his arms, careful of agitating the Omega’s injury. His wounded shoulder screams in protest and oh, the Resistance had shown up at some point during his instinct-driven haze. The ‘troopers are already falling back under the Resistance’s heavy fire, and none complain when he commands a tactical retreat. He can feel the Light the other Alpha, the one who’d been in the woods, drawing closer, but not nearly fast enough to stop him.

\--

Rey emerges slowly, her grip tight around the blaster Han had given her when they disembarked here. She’s killed two Stormtroopers with it so far, and was prepared to end the lives of more if need be. BB-8 follows diligently at her heels as she picks her way through the rubble toward the heart of the fight.

Well, it’s not much of a fight now. The Resistance pilots have made sure of that, flying with an elegance that Rey would marvel at if she had the time. The Stormtroopers are retreating, and she needs to find Finn. She’d felt it, a disturbance, and suddenly his Light had dimmed. She needs to find him. If he’s bleeding out somewhere, she needs to help him. She promised that she’d help him.

She reaches the top of a mountain of rubble, and there: Kylo Ren, Finn in his arms, headed towards a small shuttle. She doesn’t know him by sight, hasn’t heard much about the man beyond the insights she managed to pry out of Finn, but she knows the lingering darkness can not belong to anyone else. In his arms, Finn looks so _small_.

Rey knows she’s too far to reach them in time even before she’s running, but it doesn’t stop her. It doesn’t stop her from running and screaming Finn’s name until a pair of strong arms catch her, pulling her to a broad chest and holding her tight even as she struggles to break loose. Kylo Ren and Finn disappear into the belly of the transport, and then the ship is rising and carrying the Omega far away from her.

“You can’t help him,” Han Solo snarls in her ear, his breath still ragged from the earlier fight. “You can’t help him, Rey.”

Rey’s throat hurts from screaming and legs are weak beneath her and Han Solo supports her when they finally give out. The Resistance ships are landing around them, but Rey pays them no mind. The grief that settles into her bones threatens to consume her. She’d promised. She’d _promised_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next Time: General Hux beats the shit out of Kylo Ren.
> 
> Forewarning, I might go MIA over the next few days, hence why i'm trying to crank out these chapters so fast. I've not abandoned this fic, just got an English essay to write. Eugh, college. Should be back by the weekend at the latest.


	12. The Return

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kylo Ren and the Terrible, Awful, No Good, Very Bad Day. And also Captain Phasma.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One of my classes was cancelled today, so I had time to write this! Yay!  
> In the spirit of this "all the baddies love Finn AU" I have included a section about Phasma.  
> Also updated with a new tag. Nothing explicit, I promise. Just mentioned briefly.  
> Please enjoy!

The ride back to the Finalizer is a tense affair. Kylo keeps 2187 in his lap, stuck between pulling the Omega closer and being mindful of his injuries. The Stormtroopers aboard the shuttle with them are skittish, requiring only a low growl and flash of bared teeth to keep away and cease their gawking—with the exception, of course, of Phasma. The woman stands like a chrome statue just inside Kylo’s field of vision, her worry for the Omega in his arms a beast breathing down the nape of his neck. This, at least, he can understand. Before 2187’s transfer under Hux, a transfer Kylo requested, he’d been Phasma’s most promising pupil, a prodigal son of sorts. Now the Omega is fighting for every shallow breath, wounded by one of the very men whom she’d entrusted with his safety.

Kylo doesn’t fight when Phasma steps forward and takes 2187 from him with a gentility surprising in such a powerful woman. She holds the Omega like he’s something fragile, and though Kylo can’t see her face behind her helmet, he gets the feeling that her expression would be similar to his own.

There’s a med-team waiting in the hanger when they touch down. Of course there is. What else could he expect from Hux? The man himself is at their head, sweeping by Ren without so much as a glance as he hastens to Phasma’s side, assisting her in settling 2187 down on a gurney. The bond between them is cold and eerily silent, like a forest in the winter, and there’s no sign of Hux. Just a bitter cold barrier where his mate’s mind should be. Kylo doesn’t like the feel of it, doesn’t realize how dependent he’s grown on the other Alpha’s structured thoughts until they’re not there. Kylo feels alone, and he hates it.

The medics sweep from the ship, Phasma following. Kylo moves to join them, but one of Hux’s hands wraps tight around his bicep and prevents him from going. The other Alpha still won’t look at him, but jerks his head for Kylo to follow. The path beneath his feet is familiar, Hux’s quarters at its end. Before meeting 2187, he’d gone out of his way to avoid this part of the ship. Since then, since the courting began, Kylo has been visiting it more and more frequently. Hux had started nesting when it appeared their Omega was responding positively to their advances, moving Kylo’s belonging to his quarters— _their_ quarters now—against his bondmate’s protests.

Kylo sees the first blow coming, when they’re alone and secure in the spacious suite, but makes no move to stop it. Not the first, nor the second, nor the third (which he thinks may have broken his nose), nor anything that follows. Hux is not a violent man by nature, but Ren knows the fog that comes with those powerful Alpha instincts. He knows firsthand the powerful drive to _hurt_ when it comes to the Omega’s safety. Perhaps it’s better to allow Hux to take that rage out on him.

Hux knocks him to the ground, dropping to straddle Kylo’s chest and get his hands around Kylo’s throat. Hux won’t kill him, their mating bond won’t let him, but the vicious snarl on the other man’s face is still almost frightening. The delicate skin over Hux’s knuckles has broken open, his blood welling up to meet where Kylo’s coats his hands.

“You s- _stupid_ boy,” Hux snarls, but the fire is quickly leaving him, his grip on Kylo’s throat slackening enough for him to gulp down a lungful of air. “This is all your fault.”

Even as he says it, the icy barrier between them shatters, and Kylo hisses under the torment of Hux’s mind. Guilt and despair in equal measures, and an overarching sense of _wrong_. Kylo is not alone in the blame. Both of them bear the fault for 2187’s flight, for pushing too hard and too fast. The affair on Takadona was nothing more than a freak accident. Everything in Hux’s world is off-balanced. They’ve failed in their mission to capture the droid, their Omega is laying in surgery with no promise of recovery, and everything is _wrong wrong wrong_.

Hux slides off him with a ragged breath, heaving himself to his feet and stalking toward their private ‘fresher. Kylo just lays on the cold tile and takes mental stock of his current state. Hux hadn’t broken any ribs, but his nose will have to be reset and his skin will look like a child’s finger painting for the next several days until the bruises fade. He prods at his split with his tongue until Hux returns, wiping now-clean hands on a moist towel and looking a little more put together. Kylo absently thinks that someone really should look at his mate’s knuckles. He could have broken something.

“I’ll have the medics look at them later,” Hux growls, apparently the thought having drifted through the bond. The com by the door panel chooses that moment to buzz, forcing Hux to it. “What?” He snarls into the speaker.

Kylo can’t hear the response, but Hux straightens up almost immediately.

“Thank you,” The Alpha says, and then is stalking back towards Kylo. Hux drops the towel onto Kylo’s chest. “Clean yourself up. 2187 is out of surgery, and I’m needed in a meeting. Surely you can watch over him without kriffing up.”

Kylo waits for Hux to go before he heaves himself up off the floor, hissing in discomfort.

\--

Phasma trains cadets. Phasma trains cadet for years upon years, longer than any other officer has been stuck on the tiny rock of a planet that the cadets call home. They tell her it’s because she excels at it—and it’s not entirely false. Phasma’s cadets are strong and loyal and never question. But Phasmsa knows, in the way oppressed peoples always know, that it’s because she is an Omega. Omegas can be Stormtroopers and technicians and sometimes even low-ranking officers, but an Omega will never lead troops. They don’t think Omega are strong enough. Phasma trains cadets until a ginger-haired Alpha is promoted to General. General Hux looks upon her with her strength and her smarts and her perfect rows of perfect cadets who never question and asks, _why are they wasting your talents here?_

Phasma becomes a Captain, and when she leaves that rock, she takes her cadets with her.

Among them is a boy—a boy with rich brown skin and bright eyes. He’s just FN-2187 now, and no one worries after him. This boy is just a little stronger, just a little smarter, just a little faster than the other cadets in his unit. He’ll be an Alpha for sure, they think, or at the very least a Beta. There is greatness in the future of Phasma’s favorite. They never once think otherwise. They never once deign to think that sometimes, when he’s alone, FN-2187 questions.

He presents when he’s 18, as all cadets do. They don’t think to find him—to be sure that he’s presented in the way they expect. They’re so, so sure. Phasma does, though. Phasma goes and finds the boy in an disused service corridor, neither Alpha nor Beta, struggling against the grip of two Alphas from his unit while a third watches on and spills lewd promises. They laugh and laugh as FN-2187 struggles and Phasma puts holes in two of them. The third she lets run, his designation recorded in her memory, the plan to make an example of him already forming. She takes 2187 to her quarters instead of Medical, telling herself that it’s closer. Strictly for the boy’s protection.

2187 trembles his way through his first and last heat in his underwear under the cold spray of Phasma’s personal shower. In one of his more coherent moments he finds her with her dripping wet from where she’d pulled him from the water, slathering a tube of bacta gel on the most severe of the wounds he obtained in his fight.

“You shouldn’t ‘ave that. You’ll get in trouble,” he slurs, watching her hands cover the cuts with waterproof gauze before she shoves him back under the spray. Medical supplies are never to be removed from the ward, and anyone caught with them faces hefty punishments, execution among them.

“Your wounds will get infected if they’re left open,” Phasma says, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world, “and if you die, who will lead my troops when I fall?”

Phasma can’t help but think back to that night while she keeps watch of the newly-returned 2187 in the medical ward. He looks so small, so vulnerable, where he lay unconscious against the stark white sheets. Kylo Ren sits at his other side, slumped forward against the bed at the Omega’s feet and drifting in and out of fitful sleep. The pale skin of the Alpha’s face and neck are mottled with fresh, blooming bruises and the angle of his nose isn’t quite right. He hasn’t let any of the staff touch it yet. It’ll hurt more to fix if it sets incorrectly, but Phasma has a suspicion that maybe Kylo wants that. She thinks that maybe he deserves it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like I may have written Phasma as an Alpha in earlier chapters, in which case I will have to change that. I like Omega Phasma better


	13. Awakening

The tension in General Organa’s office shatters with her glass, rich Corellian whiskey spattering the wall on impact as glass shards rain down onto the floor below. Poe Dameron flinches, his own relatively untouched glass held loosely between his fingers; one of them needs to keep a clear head in case an emergency arises. General Organa rarely drinks, and never so heavily, but Poe finds he can’t blame her. In fact, he’s honestly surprised she bothered with the glasses in the first place. In her position, he might not have.

In another part of the base, Rey Skywalker-Solo is unconscious and undergoing a full medical examination. They’re recording old injuries, testing for illness, healing the cuts and bruises received on Takadona, and running her genetic signature to put away any doubts to her identity. Han Solo is long gone, having taken his ship and the now-completed map to find Luke Skywalker. He’d wanted to take Rey with him, to share the news of her true identity when they found Luke, but Leia had refused. The resulting argument was what drew Poe to the General’s office in the first place.

He understands where she’s coming from. Poe may be a Beta, may not have the instincts of an Alpha or an Omega, but he grew up with Ben and Rey. They were practically his siblings, and he’d mourned their loss alongside the Solo family unit. To find out now that Luke lied to them, that he dumped Rey on some backwater planet and let them believe for nearly fifteen years that she’d died in the temple raid? That Ben may have been the one to kill her? In Poe’s opinion, Leia’s fury is a righteous one. He’s been to Jakku, he’s seen the lives of the people there, and Luke left his daughter to grow up alone instead of with the family that loved her. What’s keeping Rey from him a few days more when Luke had forced them to go without her for so many years?

“You’re going to have to tell her eventually,” Poe sighs, finding himself knocking back the glass of whiskey despite his earlier reservations. The rich, amber liquid burns on way down. He would grimace, if he wasn’t already doing so at the thought of their unpleasant situation.

“I know,” Leia hisses from somewhere behind him, where she’s pacing the width of the office in short, agitated steps. “Han will drag Luke back here kicking and screaming if he has to. She’ll have time to settle in before then. Too many life-changing revelations in one day would be bad for the girl.”

“And if she thinks you hid the truth from her when she does find out?”

It’s a valid point, but the withering glare Leia gives him when she stalks back into view, dropping down into the chair behind her desk, is enough to send him scrambling for a safer waters.

“What are we going to do about Finn?”

Finn, FN-2187-O, some strange equivalent of First Order royalty who could have had the galaxy placed at his feet and threw it all away to help a Resistance pilot escape an unfortunate demise. Finn, who survived a TIE crash and went on to find BB-8, Rey, Han Solo, and the Falcon. Finn, who can use the Force and wield a lightsaber. Finn, who’d been recaptured on Takadona trying to defend innocent people from his once-comrades and suiter.

Rey had barely gotten off the Falcon before she was spilling the story to whoever would listen, desperate for assistance in rescuing her wayward friend. As it was, Poe had had half a mind to stuff her into the cockpit of his X-Wing and go chase down the _Finalizer_ when he’d heard the story. They’d been forced to sedate the Alpha after she’d turned on Han, who’d hovered too close and said the wrong things in typical Solo fashion. Her Force powers were too new, still too unstable, to allow her to rampage around the base. A danger to herself and others, they’d said. She’d be waking up soon, though, and it would be best for everyone if they had a game plan in place when she did.

\--

The first time Finn wakes it’s to a medicated haze—his mind too clouded to properly assess his situation. He doesn’t quite register the med bay around him, nor remember the events leading up to his arrival in it. He does not know that it’s been nearly three standard days since he was recovered on Takadona (as he does not remember Takadona), and that he’s had a rotating vigil kept by either one of his Alpha suiters or Phasma depending on the time of day. Kylo Ren is currently at his side, slumped over in his chair and onto the mattress, shoulders rising and falling with the soft cadence of sleep.

Finn’s addled mind is alarmed to discover the shape his friend is in. Dark, colorful bruises mar the Alpha’s space-pale skin, and two distinct purple-black handprints span the circumference of his neck. Finn reaches out to touch but his movements are sluggish, as though he’s pulling his limbs through thick mud. He must press harder than he intended against a particularly vibrant bruise on Kylo’s cheekbone, because the Alpha jerks awake with a sharp, pained hiss.

It takes sleep-blurry eyes a minute to focus, but when they finally do, Kylo’s eyes grow almost comically wide.

“2187?” The Alpha breathes, as though he almost can’t believe what he’s seeing, “You’re awake!”

“What ‘appened to your face?” Finn slurs, his tongue apparently as clumsy as the rest of him at the moment.

One of Kylo’s hands drifts up to brush along the colorful skin of his cheek. “Oh, these?” He asks with an obviously forced smile, “They’re nothing. Just got in a little fight is all.”

Finn tries for a disapproving look, but doesn’t quite manage it if the low rumbling, laugh that escapes the Alpha is anything to go by. “Shouldn’t be fighting,” the Omega says with a pout.

“I’m fine, 2187,” Kylo murmurs, and this time his smile is soft and genuine. The Alpha reaches out and laces the fingers together, squeezing gently. The action is familiar somehow, sparking at something in Finn’s memory that he can’t quite grasp. “Really,” he adds.

Finn can feel himself slipping back into the clutches of sleep, but Kylo’s use of his identification number rankles even in his foggy mental state. He digs around for the cause, fending off the encroaching darkness long enough to pull a name from his disorganized thoughts.

“Finn,” He corrects.

“Hm?” The Alpha hums, not really listening, his gaze intent on their interwoven fingers.

“M’name is Finn.”

If Kylo comments after that, Finn does not catch it as he finally succumbs to the embrace of unconsciousness. Kylo Ren follows shortly after, as per the usual of his visits with Finn, the Omega’s soft, warm Light a balm against the ragged edges of his mind.

\--

The second time Finn wakes, things do not go nearly as peacefully.

For one thing, he _hurts_. His back burns like nothing he’s ever felt before now that they’ve weaned him off the painkillers. Secondly, he knows exactly where he is and how he got there. Finally, his dominant hand is attached to the railing of the bed via a set of binders. The displeased expression of the ginger-haired Alpha near his feet does nothing to improve matters.

“FN-2187, you must calm down or you’re going to re-open your wounds,” Hux growled, aborting his latest attempt to step further into the Omega’s space when Finn threw another wild kick at him. The retrained hand limited his movement and his back kriffing hurt, but one of his earlier attacks had caught Hux in the gut and the pleasure he’d gotten from hearing the Alpha’s breath escape him made another attempt well worth it.

“My name. Is. Finn!” He snarls, teeth bared in warning. “And you can’t keep me here.”

“ _Finn_ ,” Hux spits the name like it’s something foul and Finn almost regrets giving it to the Alpha to use, “we are doing this for your own protection. Those criminals you were with—”

“I was safer with them than I am here!” Finn retorts.

“No one is going to harm you,” Hux hisses, “Kylo and I—”

“They are not the ones I’m worried about!”

Hux recoils as though Finn has struck him again when he grasps the meaning behind the words. Finn can almost he the gears of the Alpha’s mind churning, trying to think of something—anything—to say. Hux is hurt, he can feel as much. This meeting had clearly not gone to plan. Was Finn supposed to be grateful? Grateful that they’ve snatched him away from his friends and his chance at freedom? Grateful that they’ve dragged him back here so they can what? Resume courting him? After everything that’s happened?

Finn almost laughs at the ridiculousness of it, but there’s no doubt in his mind that this had been Hux’s intention. The stray feelings he manages to catch through the Force, he’s still too weak to control it well, only confirm that fact. Hux’s face screws up, as though he intends to say something, but the com device attached at his hip interrupts.

“I’ll send someone to see that you haven’t hurt yourself further,” Hux growls as he stalks away to answer the call.

Finn realizes belatedly that he hadn’t thought to ask about his jacket.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Meh. I am not huge on this chapter. I didn't want to deal with it any more, though. Sorry if it was of lesser quality than expected. Next time will be better.


	14. Audience

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Alphas have an audience with Snoke.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Little bit shorter than usual, but i'm super pleased with how this scene turned out and am too excited to wait and add the next section.  
> Edit 1: Alright, we've gone a fair number of chapters without any mean-spirited comments showing up, so i'm giving you unmoderated comments back. Don't fail me now!

Hux broods as he stomps through the halls of the _Finalizer_ , scattering crew members in his wake. To say that his meeting with FN— _Finn_ had gone poorly would be an understatement. In fact, Hux is still sore from where the Omega had lashed out at him. He hadn’t gotten to say anything that he had planned to, between Finn’s hostility and the thrice-damned com device summoning him to an audience with the Supreme Leader. On any other day, the Alpha would have jumped at the chance to make a direct report to his Lord, but today he just wants to go back to the med bay and calm Finn. Explain. Perhaps grovel at his Omega’s feet if he thought that might help. He doesn’t think he’s above that currently.

Maybe the audience with the audience with the Supreme Leader will be good for him. It should help to clear his head, at least.

Kylo greets him at the door to the audience chamber, the slightly taller Alpha leaning in to brush his lips against the corner of Hux’s in an attempt to soothe. Hux does not doubt that his bondmate can feel his raging emotions—that he knows how poorly the meeting with a lucid Finn has gone. A hot spike of jealousy shoots through him at the memory he’d pulled from Kylo only the previous night; of Finn soft and smiling, his fingers twined together with the other Alpha’s. His reception hadn’t been nearly as welcome.

“I doubt he would react the same, if I were to go to him now,” Kylo murmurs. “Come, the Supreme Leader waits.”

It almost floors Hux that Kylo is being the rational one in this situation. It’s obvious that Finn’s return has already begun working its magic over Ren’s notoriously wild temper. They’ve gone days without an _incident_ , which is a rapid improvement over the number of tantrums thrown in the Omega’s brief absence. And while it had seemed to have the opposite effect on Hux, who’d fired three of his technicians over trivial things during Finn’s time in unconsciousness, better to be filling out the paperwork to replace them than trying to budget for more repair expenditures.

They enter the massive audience chamber side by side, finding their way up the stairs to the hologram projection of their master more by memory than sight. The chamber has never been well lit. The Supreme Leader towers above them on his throne, taking up everything from floor to ceiling. They bow in unison, a feat rarely managed, but Hux knows they must look a mess. His knuckles are wrapped from his outburst at Kylo, the delicate bones still too sensitive for the confines of his gloves, and Kylo’s elaborate bruising is on full display without the covering of the mask he lost on Takadona. He wears a hood to hide his face when he stalks the halls of the _Finalizer_ , Hux knows, but his bondmate would not dare that here in the presence of his master.

“General, Lord Ren, some worrying news has been brought to my attention” the Supreme Leader drawls. “The Hosnian System—I am told it still stands. Was the order not given to test the planetary weapon several cycles ago?”

“It was, Supreme Leader,” Hux says.

“Why, then, has the Republic not been destroyed?”

“We were delayed, Lord. The map to Skywalker—we received credible intelligence that the droid carrying it was spotted on the planet of Takadona. It was decided to delay the testing of the weapon in favor of collecting the droid and preventing the map from falling into the hands of the Rebellion.”

“You were successful in retrieving it, then? The map?”

“N-no, Supreme Leader,” Hux stutters, scrambling for composure under the Sith Lord’s wrathful gaze. One does not _stutter_ in the presence of the Supreme Leader of the Galaxy. “There were… unforeseen complications. The droid was taken by the Rebellion before we were able to retrieve it.”

A sudden, foreboding silence settles over the audience chamber; it does not last long.

The pain that rips through the bond has a distant, muffled feel to it. It’s obvious that Kylo is trying to shield him from the worst of Snoke’s invasion, but it’s still powerful enough that Hux nearly crumples. At his side, Kylo has, writhing on the floor in agony as the Supreme Leader rips through his memories. Hux watches them go by in his own mind as the Snoke drags them out into view: the discovery of Finn, their courtship, Jakku, Takadona, the bleary-eyed Omega in the medical bay. Kylo has bitten into his lower lip to prevent himself from screaming.

Just as fast as the invasion comes, it goes. Hux releases the breath he didn’t know he was holding; Kylo does not get up from the floor. He’s panting, sweaty, saliva blood-stained where it dribbles from his injured lip. It takes every ounce of willpower Hux has not to drop to his knees there and then and comfort his wounded mate.

“I see,” the Supreme Leader growls, leaning back in his massive throne, “you have discovered a compatible Omega.”

“Yes, M-my Lord,” Hux says, and he can taste Kylo’s blood in his own mouth.

Snoke makes a considering noise. “You allowed the Republic to thrive longer than it should, and you have allowed the map to Skywalker to fall into the hands of the Resistance. How long until you reach the planetary weapon?”

“We are on route now, sir,” Hux reports, “we should arrive at the Starkiller Base in three more cycles, if current conditions continue.”

“Good. I expect this problem to be rectified by the time you reach the base.”

“Rectified?” Hux can’t stop himself from asking, because surely Snoke can’t mean—

“Your bond with Kylo Ren is of use to the First Order, General Hux,” the Supreme Leader snarls, “but this Omega has clearly compromised your judgements. You will purge yourselves of this distraction before you reach the planetary weapon. Do you understood?”

“Y-yes, Supreme Leader,” is forced out from somewhere near Hux’s feet, the first words Ren’s spoken during this entire audience. Hux isn’t looking at him, though, his eyes glued in horror to the imposing figure before them. “Your will shall be done.”

“Do not disappoint me again,” Snoke hisses and the hologram blinks off, leaving them alone in the vast, dark chamber.

Kylo struggles to his feet, swaying slightly from the lingering afterimage of the pain caused by Snoke’s invasion. Hux makes no move to help him. The Alpha’s blood is boiling from Snoke’s ultimatum, from Kylo’s simpering submission, as he storms from the chamber. Did his bondmate really think they were going to go through with this? Did Ren really think that he was going to just stand aside and let him—?

“I don’t,” Kylo calls from behind him. They’re near the doorway, only just illuminated by the echoes of light from the hall. The contrast between the light and deep shadows that splay over Kylo’s face make his fearsome expression all the more intimidating. Apparently Hux’s outrage had been filtering through the bond. “I wouldn’t.”

“You heard what the Supreme Leader said,” Hux hisses. “We have only three cycles to figure something out.”

A terrible smile spreads across Kylo Ren’s face. “It took Finn less than one.”

Hux can feel his own lips stretching to mimic Kylo’s grin, even though there’s nothing even remotely funny about their situation. They have less than three standard days to organize and facilitate the escape of not only themselves, but the wounded Omega fugitive who currently hates them. A breathless, desperate laugh slips past Hux’s lips, along with words he'd thought he'd die before saying.

“Well then, Lord Ren, it seems we have high treason to plan.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh man, ya'll. Oh man. I'm beyond excited to finally be reaching this point in the story. I've had it planned out since I started this thing, and I'm so thrilled to finally be sharing it you don't even know.


	15. Negotiation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Phasmom comes to the aid of our helpless heroes, and an important conversation is finally had.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One last chapter before bed!

They don’t actually get around to planning much high treason at all that first night. They’re not even back to their quarters when Phasma seems to simply materialize before the two Alphas and steer them back down the corridor. The chief medic, an agreeable Beta man with a round face and greying hair, is just finishing up changing Finn’s bandages when they arrive in the bay. He gives the what Hux supposes might be a reassuring smile, and fishes around for a holopad to report the latest on the Omega’s condition. Finn appears to be staring off into the middle distance, up until the point Phasma shoves the pair up closer to the bed. Hux struggles because he knows what happens he’s within Finn's reach; Kylo struggles because he’s seen via Hux’s memories what happens when you get within that reach; Finn sits quietly on the bed and watches their approach, and his toes do not wind up anywhere near anybody else’s ribcage. Phasma deposits then into a waiting set of chairs and moves around to the other side of the bed while Hux and his mate breathe a sigh of relief.

“Finn has been cleared to leave the medical bay,” the Medic begins without preamble, launching into the specifics of how much has healed and what treatments have been used.

Phasma pulls her helmet off as she listens, her short-cropped blonde hair sticking to her forehead, sweat-slick. Hux can feel his eyebrows rise of their own accord when Finn fails to look scandalized by the sight of his once commanding officer out of uniform, nor does Phasma seem concerned in the slightest that Finn has gotten a good look at her face. He can feel Kylo pressing something along through their bond—a memory, it seems. The feel of a cold spray against overheated skin, of Phasma’s soothing voice whispering reassurances of retribution, of the chemical scent of bacta gel against a too-sensitive nose is not one of _their_ memories, and Hux is left to assume that he’s managed to pry it loose from Finn by way of the Force. If the Omega is alarmed by this fact, or even aware, he doesn’t show it.

“However, he has not been cleared to remain unsupervised for both the obvious security reasons and potential complications with the healing process, he will need to remain supervised. Captain Phasma has agreed to accept this duty if no other option presents itself, however…” That seems to be the ending of the medic’s speech, as his eyes flicker to Phasma, clearly willing her to pick up where he left off.

“Finn and I,” the new name rolls off Phasma’s tongue far more naturally than it does for Hux even though he’s almost positive that he’s known it longer, “have discussed the matter of his desertion during your audience with the Supreme Leader. I believe it best that you discuss the matter, then move forward with the decision of where Finn will be remaining until we reach Starkiller.”

The mention of the base, the reminder of their deadline, sends a jolt of panic through Hux. It is almost as bad as the panic that arises when Phasma puts her helmet back on, nodding once to Finn and motioning for the medic to follow. She clearly intends to leave them alone with Finn. Hux opens his mouth to say something, anything, to beg her to stay and mediate maybe, but the with way her helmet snaps toward him when he shifts just minutely, he doesn’t need to see below it to know what she’s sending him a withering look. _This is your mess,_ the cold, dark eyes of the helmet say, _clean it up._

Or maybe he’s just projecting. Either way, it doesn’t change the fact that Kylo is rigid at his side and Hux is suddenly aware of how very, very quiet the med bay is.

\--

When Phasma had originally broached the subject of speaking to his suiters, of explaining the situation to them, it had sounded like a good idea. He’d been exhausted at the time, having thrashed himself sore trying to lash out at Hux or escape the binders holding him to the bed, and the prospect of more fighting to keep the Alphas at an appropriate distance had seemed like too large a burden for his battered body to bear. She’d claimed that it seemed to her as though a rather large miscommunication had happened somewhere along the way, and it could be remedied with a simple conversation. Finn, for all his misgivings as to the Order, has come to trust her implicitly in matters such as these since she’d rescued him from his attackers the day he presented.

There isn’t an awful lot of communication happening now, though. Hux and Kylo are both completely stiff in their seats, apparently doing their best to look anywhere but Finn. Even Kylo’s Force presence, usually a wrecking ball of dark energy against his conscience any time the Alpha is in the vicinity, is wrapped up tight around him. Their usually soothing scents bear an underlying current of anxiety that only serves to put Finn more on edge. While he’s glad he’s not the only one foundering in this situation, he can’t help but wish one of them would just say something, anything, to break the awkward silence. Finn curls and uncurls his fingers in the bedsheets.

“Is there really nothing you want to say to me?”

Both their gazes snap to him instantly, their eyes comically wide, as though they hadn’t actually expected him to speak—as if they’d truly intended to sit there in silence until Phasma and the medic returned and whisked Finn off to her quarters. Sure he’d been a little rough with Hux when he woke, but anybody would be a little rough if they came to with the General in their face. Especially when they’re still working out feelings regarding a truly abysmal courtship that had apparently been happening without their knowledge. His conversation with Phasma had helped to sort out those feelings into something more manageable, though, if they would ever be ready to talk about it.

“You left,” Kylo finally says, and is sounds very small coming from such a large man. He has to look away to get it out, but that’s fine. At least they’ve finally got a conversation going.

“Yes,” Finn sighs, “I did.”

“Why?” This time from Hux.

“Because I was afraid.”

Hux huffs at that. “What would you possibly afraid of?”

“Everything. What happened on Jakku, my awakening in the Force, you two…”

“Us?” They say it simultaneously, and their additionally matching confused expressions would be funny if not for the fact that they clearly had no clue as to why Finn would fear them.

This, it seems, is where Phasma’s _rather large miscommunication_ had happened.

“You guys weren’t exactly very clear when you started courting me,” Finn tells them, trying to find the words to make them understand. Hux opens his mouth as though to interrupt, and Finn holds up a hand to stop him. “Let me finish, please. You guys keep forgetting, I was a Stormtrooper when I met you. We weren’t exactly taught the finer details of courtship. Relationships were the kind of thing that got you sent to reconditioning. I thought you were just being nice, that I’d made friends, and then the Jakku mission happened and you both—” Finn groans, scrubbing at his face with his unrestrained hand.

“I figured out you were courting me, and then everything happened on Jakku, and I just panicked. I couldn’t support what the First Order was doing, and I didn’t know what to do about this mess, so I ran. And I made friends out there, you know?”

Neither Alpha says anything, so Finn just keeps going.

“I know you brought me back here because you thought you were protecting me, and I’m still angry about it, but…” Finn worries at his lower lip, doing his best to ignore the way both the Alphas’ eyes drop to follow the movement, “I can’t deny that I care about you. Maybe not in the way you care about me, but maybe with time I could. I’m willing to give this another chance, if you two are. And maybe one day, we can get off this ship together.”

Finn stares at the floor, unable to bring himself to look at Kylo or Hux during the silence that follows. To his surprise, it’s Kylo that speaks.

“Things are going to change, Finn,” he says, and his voice sounds ragged even though he’s barely used it. “Things are going to change soon, and very quickly. But if you’d have us,” Kylo flashes a look at Hux, a silent communication, “we’d like to try again.”

Finn’s not entirely certain what Kylo means by _things_ , but he has a feeling that it has more to do with their situation aboard the _Finalizer_ that it does with their tenuous relationship. He manages a weak smile and, when they lean forward to settle closer into his space, he doesn’t lash out. Finn can feel the tendrils of Kylo’s power when the Alpha finally allows his presence to unfurl, but when it brushes against his own mind, it doesn’t feel as dark as previous occasions.

It seems they’ve come to an arrangement just in time, as Phasma and the medic choose the next moment to return. Or maybe they’ve been listening just outside the door, waiting for the right moment to return. Neither idea really bother’s Finn. What he’d said wasn’t anything different from what he’d told Phasma in their earlier conversation.

“You’ve made your choice, then?” She asks.

“Yeah,” Finn says, grinning down at the place where Hux has hesitantly laced their fingers together the way Kylo had done that first, drug-fuzzy night. “I think I have.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Goodnight, dears!


	16. Intermission: Rey

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Keeping up with the Skywalkers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Boy howdy friends, here's like half a chapter I hadn't intended to put up on its own, but it's late here and I haven't the time to finish the rest tonight and this half has been laying around for days so just take it now.

After she finally wakes, after Luke is returned and Han gathers them all to reveal the truth of her heritage, Rey Skywalker-Solo is skittish. She's skittish in the way a kicked dog is skittish, both desiring a kind hand and wary of further harm. Because she knows now who her family is. She knows now who left her on that endless desert, and she knows that he never intended to go and collect her again. If it wasn't for the Force's intervention through Finn, she'd still be rotting there. Rey Skywalker-Solo is curious about the family she's finally found, but equally aware of the harm that's been done.

She'd been less than thrilled when she came out of sedation to discover that there was no plan to go rescue Finn yet. The Finalizer is still on the move, they told her, and no plans can be made to retaliate until they know more about what to expect. Rey can at least understand this. She would not jump blindly down an unfamiliar maintenance duct for the sake of a questionably valuable scrap; the Rebellion will not charge blindly into battle for the sake of a questionably valuable man. It's practicality that a scavenger can respect. A missed meal is far more forgiving than a broken limb in the harsh desert landscape, and anyone who knows the story of Finn assures her that he's probably just as safe there with Kylo Ren and the General whose name she never got. If they were courting Finn, if they are really compatible, it is unlikely they'll hurt him. She wants to believe them, she really does, but she knows the feeling of being left behind and the knowledge that she's done it to Finn sits poorly beneath her skin. She wants to steal a ship and go find him herself, consequences be damned to the Corellian hell. She doesn't—that old practicality again.

Instead, she spends her days in the hangar. She’s with Poe Dameron most of the time. He and the other pilots who flew on Takadona have been grounded until further notice, so he lets her help with repairs to his X-Wing and teaches her to play sabbac. She doesn't quite remember him from their youth, but he's a living anthology of their misadventures and is always enthusiastic to share. His stories often include a boy named Ben, who she assumes was another friend of theirs from the frequency with which he features. She asks about him once, when Poe finishes a particularly funny story where they'd all ended up in trouble for taking Poe's mother's A-Wing out for an unsupervised joyride (which Poe assures her was perfectly safe—he's always been one hell of a pilot), but the look that crosses the Beta's face is enough to dissuade her from asking again. She gets the feeling that Ben's story does not have a happy ending. Rey discovers that for all her Force-Sensitivity, she is absolute rubbish at sabbac.

When she's not with the pilot, she's following Luke—which really isn't much of a distinction at all. If even half of the stories she's heard are true, Luke Skywalker-Solo is one hell of a pilot himself. She's angry with him, of course she is, but she can't help but hover. He's magnetic; his signature is like a supernova within the Force. He's brilliant and bright and she finds herself drifting closer even as she reprimands herself. This is the man who abandoned her, she recites, but she still scrambles up into the canopy of the ancient tree where he's meditating. She still sits beside him on an astonishingly wide branch and looks out at the world below. Tree-climbing is still new, but years of crawling through the skeletons of Star Destroyers have served her well. She feels his conscious brush up against hers through the Force, and all at once feels warm. She asks him why he left her, while they sit up there in that tree, and he gets a look similar to the face Poe made when she asked about Ben. Luke tells her that he's not ready to talk about it, but that he had regretted the decision every day since. She can feel that he's telling the truth, and is content with that for now.


	17. Nightmare

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kylo has a nightmare, and a decision is made.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Behold, the second half of the chapter I poste last night/early this morning.  
> Hope you enjoy!

Ben Organa-Solo is nine when his sister is born. Half-sister, technincally, but the distinction doesn’t much matter to him. She blinks up at him with big, round eyes and all he can think is that she’s small and soft and perfect. They name her Breha after his mother’s adoptive parent, just as they named him Ben after the man that Luke would have been proud to call his father. _It’s your job to protect her, Ben_ , his father—Han Solo, war hero—says, carefully placing the bundle that is Breha Skywalker-Solo into his arms. Ben holds her tight, ever so careful, and thinks that he may never have been happier.

He’s ten when he begins his training with Luke. The Force is strong in their family, and Ben wants desperately to learn its ways. He listens with single-minded attention as Luke tells him stories of eras long past, of the ways of the Jedi before the Empire. These stories Luke has learned from the Force itself, and Ben marvels in his uncle’s magnetic presence. He like the stories of his grandfather best of all—wild, impossible adventures with his master, Obi-Wan. They always seem to barely make it out alive, and he can feel his heart thundering as listens, each tale as suspenseful as the last despite knowing that they will survive. Luke teaches him lightsaber forms and meditation poses with Rey, they call her Rey now, balanced on his hip. _I’m going to build a school,_ Luke tells him one night, when they’re sitting on the floor of the temple they call home, Rey in Ben’s lap and Luke cleaning his lightsaber, _I’m going to build a school so gifted kids like you can learn to control their power and don’t have to be afraid_. His eyes shine with joy and hope and Ben thinks he likes the sound of a school.

He’s thirteen when they steal the Dameron’s A-Wing. Poe Dameron is fifteen, with dark, unruly curls and a mischievous glint that never seems to leave his eyes. Rey is four now, and totters after them no matter where they go. Poe grew up an only child in the vast jungles of Yavin-IV, and never once complains about the additional company. _Come on,_ Poe calls, scrambling into the cockpit of the A-Wing, _we don’t have all day, Solo_! When Ben lifts Rey up to him, too little to climb into the ship on her own, Poe’s gentleness with the girl could be matched only by Ben’s own. He’s heard a little bit about love from Han and his bondmates, and when he’s thirteen watching the other boy settle Rey in with such care, he thinks he might just love Poe Dameron. The cockpit isn’t made for three, but somehow they manage to make themselves fit. The afternoon they spend in the air, in the vast, clear sky, is well worth the punishment they receive upon landing.

He’s fifteen when he destroys Luke Skywalker’s school. The Dark Side is still unfamiliar to him, but it answers to his call nonetheless. It’s raining that night, bitter cold wind sending his dark, shoulder-length curls lashing. _The spitting image of your grandfather_ , Luke had old him once. If only he’d known then just how right he’d been. He’s beginning to freeze as mud and rainwater soak into his robes. His helmet, a gift from the Supreme Leader, is tucked under one arm and his face is bared to the Knights who follow him. _Rey,_ he screams, voice hoarse from overuse, _Rey_! Skywalker has escaped, the bodies of younglings little the ground around them, and he can’t find Rey. Not here, not within the Force, not anywhere. He draws in a ragged breath and screams for her again. It wasn’t supposed to happen like this; they were supposed to leave this place together. In the back of his mind he hears Han Solo’s voice, _it’s your job to protect her, Ben_. She’s gone, and he failed.

Kylo Ren is standing opposite a somewhat familiar man, boots sinking into the hot sand of a harsh, endless desert. This man Is tall with pale blue eyes and shoulder-length, brown hair. There’s a distinct scar beside his eye that curls up past his eyebrow. He’s staring at Kylo, and Kylo stares back. The man is dressed like a Jedi.

“You have to find them, Ben,” the man says. “You have to find them and warn them.”

“I can’t,” Kylo replies, knowing with the logic of dreams just who the man speaks of. “I can’t. I failed. They don’t want to see me.”

“Listen to me, boy,” the man snarls, all at once taking Kylo by the caller and dragging him closer. The man’s eyes are an eerie yellow now, his lips curled in a terrifying snarl, and Kylo suddenly feels very small. “You have to find them. You have to warn them. You have to. You have to.”

The man and the desert are suddenly gone, replaced by bustling streets he knows belong to the Republic. The pedestrians turn their attention all at once to a brilliant red light that blocks out the night sky. People are screaming, clutching each other, and Kylo knows what this is. Kylo knows what this is and it’s coming closer and all of these people—

\--

Kylo Ren wakes with a ragged gasp, chest heaving, his hand clenched white-knuckled around a slender wrist. Hux looks down at him, hand suspended halfway between Kylo and himself. Kylo releases his mate quickly, but he knows how tightly he’d been gripping. There will be bruises in the morning.

“You were having a nightmare,” Hux says softly.

Across the room, Kylo can hear the gentle huffs of Finn’s soft, even breathing. He hadn’t been woken, then. They’d offered the Omega their bed, then offered to share, but Finn had insisted on a small cot by the transparisteel windows. _Still a little too early for bed sharing_ , he’d said with a wry grin.

“Kylo?” Hux asks, cupping his mate’s face with his hands as he attempts to draw his attention back.

Kylo pulls away from his grip, slipping from the warmth of the sheets and padding across the room on bare feet. He can feel the stickiness of sweat on his skin. There’s a desk in one corner, a box of Kylo’s things still not yet unpacked resting atop its surface. It only takes a moment of rummaging to find what he wants: an old holopad, carefully preserved. Kylo makes for their small, private ‘fresher with the device clutched tight to his chest. He hears the rustle of blankets as he goes and knows that Hux has gotten up as well.

“Who are they?” The other Alpha asks from the doorway. Kylo is seated on the closed lid of the toilet, watching two figures dance in slow, careful circles.

“My grandparents,” Kylo tells him, staring intently as the holovid loops and the couple begins their dance all over again.

The smiling man is unquestionably the one from his dreams. Anakin Skywalker, his grandfather, Darth Vader. He spins Padme Amidala with a smile on his lips, careful of her stomach, which is swollen with child. _Children_ , he corrects. His mother and her brother.

“We have to find the Resistance, Hux. We have to warn them.”

The other Alpha’s brow furrows as he steps fully into the room, coming to kneel on the tile at Kylo’s feet. “We’re war criminals, Kylo. Even if we manage to make it out of here, the Resistance would kill us if we went to them, no matter who your family is.”

“What’s your plan then?” Kylo snarls, careful to keep his volume low as to not wake the sleeping Omega in the main room, “Run away to the Outer Rim? Become moisture farmers on some ragged, backwater planet?”

Hux stares helplessly up at him, and Kylo drops his eyes back to the happily spinning couple. They both know that there are no good choices here.

“Snoke will find me, Hux, no matter how far we go. At least with the Resistance, we might have a chance. At least with the Resistance, Finn will be safe. Even if they do decide to execute us.”

Hux is an Imperial born and bred, raised to serve an Empire like his father before him. He’s grown on stories of the treacherous Rebellion, which became the Resistance when the First Order rose. Kylo expect a fight, maybe yelling, maybe even threats to call this whole matter off. But Hux just sighs, reaching up to take his Kylo’s face in his hands once more.

“Ok, Kylo. Ok. If you think this is our best chance, then—”

“Ben,” he finds himself correcting. “When we’re alone, can you please call me Ben?”

Hux smiles. “Of course, Ben.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks much for reading!


	18. Escape: Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The boys make their escape.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some snuggles, an escape, and the start of something new.

The first time Finn climbs into their bed is the night before their escape. The last two days have been busy with preparations for the journey, Finn’s physical therapy, and acting as natural as possible when you’re plotting high treason. There’s a schedule of meetings Hux has planned but will never attend stored in the holopad on his nightstand, three small satchels of necessities by the door, and an impending sense of change looming over them. It makes his sleep difficult, shuffling about in an attempt to get comfortable. Kylo has already kicked him twice in hopes it might persuade Hux to settle. It has not. Then the bed dips at the end, drawing both of the Alpha’s attentions from their battle of wills.

The Omega crawls up the length of the mattress with little finesse, clumsy in his drowsiness while he fumbles for an open place to collapse. Kylo and Hux oblige, shifting away from each other with matching surprised expressions to create a space between them. Finn, clad in one of Kylo’s sleeveless undershirts and Hux’s sleep pants, flops onto his stomach in the available space, nuzzling into the pillows with a soft groan. The shirt rides up with the motion, revealing far too much of the man’s skin for Hux’s comfort.

“You’re making a racket,” He complains, muffled by the downy pillows, and turns his head to glare at each of them in turn.

It pulls a startled laugh from Hux, who murmurs a soft apology while assisting his mate in drawing the blankets over Finn as well. The Omega lets out a pleased noise at the sudden warmth, making it exceedingly apparent that he doesn’t intend on going anywhere any time soon. Hux can’t say he minds.

“We’re leaving, aren’t we?” Finn asks, shuffling until he’s on his side, facing Hux.

They haven’t really talked of their plan around Finn, but of course the man was bright enough to figure it out on his own. It wasn’t like they were hiding it from him intentionally. More like they were uncertain how to approach the topic. It seemed a bit awkward, to Hux’s mind, to say _hey, I know we just abducted you from the Resistance and everything, but how do feel about heading back there?_

“Yes,” Kylo answers for him, the other Alpha slowly inching forward and curling himself along the line of Finn’s back. When it doesn’t earn him any kind of reprimand, part of this new arrangement between them dictates that Finn is vocal about situations he’s uncomfortable with, Kylo throws an arm around the Omega’s waist and mumbles the rest of the answer into the nape of his neck. “We’ll be leaving first thing in the morning.”

“I thought so.” Finn says, “I could feel it—through the Force? Like it was trying to tell me something. That _something is changing_.”

Hux knows little of the mystical Force that runs strong with his companions, and Kylo seems to have drifted back off to the gentleness of Finn’s voice if the sudden evenness of his breathing is to be believed, so Hux remains silent.

“Where are we going?”

This question Hux can answer. “We’re going to find the Resistance.”

“Really?” Finn sounds as surprised as Hux expected. “I would have thought—”

“The Supreme Leader has ordered you executed,” the explanation spilling from Hux’s lips before he can stop it. “The Resistance is the only place we can go that would be beyond his reach.”

“Oh,” Finn says softly, and for a moment Hux thinks he’s ruined the peacefulness between them with the explanation. Then the Omega leans forward, pulling slightly out of Kylo’s grasp, and presses a chase kiss to Hux’s lips before settling back into his original position. Hux can feel his cheeks burning, and desperately hopes the room is dark enough that Finn can not see it.

“Thank you,” the Omega mumbles, curling his fingers into the front of Hux’s shirt and relaxing into the mattress, “it’ll be nice to see my friends again.”

\--

Due to the existence of an inconveniently placed asteroid belt, the final leg of the _Finalizer_ ’s journey takes the massive Star Destroyer closer to Republic-controlled space than any other point in the route. Usually, these few hours cause General Brendol Hux the Second enough stress to knock a few more years off his lifespan. As he looks out the transparisteel widows of the Bridge, however, what he sees is opportunity. Republic-controlled space: dozens of planets housing hundreds of spaceports, any of which the perfect place for a First Order deserter to disappear. All of it only a few meager parsecs away—a hyperspace jump even their small transport shuttle is capable of.

In the end, the plan is something like this: get to the hanger and steal the transport.

It’s hardly the most elaborate escape but, as Finn’s previous breakout proved, it is the most effective. Hux would be humiliated at the ease with which they sneak aboard the ship if he were not one of the ones escaping. Nobody looks twice at the General, the Knight, and their Omega. It’s none of their business, after all. Loyalty to their commanders is ingrained in every cell. Hux decides then and there that unquestioning soldiers are, without a doubt, the worst idea he’s ever come up with. And he designed a planetary weapon designed to wipe out complete systems.

In fact, the closest thing to a complication they come across is Phasma, who’s in the transport when they arrive and up to her elbows in the console’s wiring. She’s off duty now, one of the main reasons they’d selected this time to make their escape, and is dressed down into sweats and a plain white tee shirt. It’s her typical gym outfit, and Hux guesses she was probably on her way there before she diverted to the hanger. Nobody says anything when she looks over her shoulder briefly, but Hux thinks Finn is a lot less tense than he rightfully should be.

When she finally disentangles herself from the ship’s wiring and stands, there’s a small mechanical part clutched in her hand. Hux and Kylo both blanch with the realization—the ship’s location device. They’d completely forgotten about it.

“Wouldn’t get very far with this still on board,” Phasma says with a teasing grin. “Figured you idiots would forget something.”

None of them ask how Phasma _knows_ , they’ve spent far too much time around the woman to do anything but simply accept her omniscience as fact. She drops the little part and crushes it beneath the heel of her shoe, scattering the fragment when she steps over it and into their space.

Finn is the first to receive her attention, the smaller Omega pulled tight to her chest in a brief embrace before she drops a kiss to his forehead with a murmured, “Be happy, Finn.”

Kylo receives a comradely slap to the shoulder and instructions to keep them safe, which he vows, and then she’s turning to Hux.

“Thank you, General,” Phasma says, “for everything you’ve done for me.”

 _You deserved it_ , he wants to tell her, but Phasma is already stepping past them and down the ramp. When she’s clear, Kylo raises it and they strap themselves in. A childhood spent in a cockpit reveals itself in the smoothness of Kylo’s movements, the other Alpha effortlessly starting up the transport and coaxing it out of the hanger. By the time alarms begin to blare aboard the _Finalizer_ , the light of their engines has already winked away into hyperspace.

\--

 _Something is changing_.

The feeling wakes Rey, sends her skittering from her bunk and down the winding corridors of the Resistance base.

 _Hurry, hurry. Something has begun_.

The Force around her is electric, practically singing in her veins as she runs. A few fighters send her off looks as she passes, still dressed in her sleepwear and wild around the eyes, but pays them no heed. She can feel the excitement coming from the main control room—Leia’s, her fathers’, the technicians’. Something is swelling up around her, something she doesn’t know is named _hope_ , and she wants to bask in its warmth for the rest of her life.

“What’s happened?” She asks when she jogs into the room, dodging the men and women and other life forms that scurry about the room.

They’re _relaying messages_ and _giving orders_ and _delegating resources_ more frantically than Rey has ever seen before. It’s a mess of activity, the volume near deafening as they shout at one another. At their heart, by the massive holotable, is her family. Her fathers and Leia, speaking in swift, hushed tones. She weaves her way over to them, nearly tripping when a small alien whose species she doesn’t know rushes by under her feet. There’s something playing on the holotable, she realizes. It’s projecting the image of a woman with close-cropped blonde hair and a stern expression, the First Order banner displayed proud behind her, and her family is watching with interest. Rey can’t hear the volume over the chaos of the room, but the subtitles are in basic.

“ _The First Order will not stand for this act of treason,_ ” the now-General Phasma is saying. “ _Kylo Ren, Brendol Hux, and the man known only as Finn will be found and brought to justice._ ”

Rey doesn’t need to see the rest. The Force is whispering excitedly in her ear, and she knows all that she needs to.

“They ran,” she gasps, near breathless. “That’s what all this is about. They took Finn and ran.”

“There are only so many places to go that Snoke will not be able to reach them,” Leia says, gaze never wavering from the hologram, “and if they’re smart, they’ll know we’re their best option.”

“The First Order will be hunting for them.” Rey scowls at the thought.

Han places a firm hand on her shoulder. “That’s why we’re going to find them first,” her father says with all the bravado of the man he thought he no longer was. “We’re going to find them, and we’re going to bring them home.”

And Rey smiles.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You know Phasma's bs-ing her way through that speech. The woman don't care where they go, long as they bang when they get there.  
> Thanks much for reading!


	19. The Journey Begins

When they finally find an acceptable port to land in, others deemed _too nice_ or _too populated_ or _too well secured_ , it’s on a small moon the name of which Finn doesn’t know. He doesn’t bother to ask, either. Kylo—Ben, he’s asked them to call him Ben now—claims they won’t be there long enough for it to matter.

The port is made up of a collection of squat, ugly buildings clearly meant more for function than fashion. There are members of dozens of species mingling in the streets, creating a cacophony of noise as they shout to be heard above each other and briefly reminding Finn of the afternoon he’d spent in Maz’s castle. He can feel the weight of curious eyes as they disembark, as could be expected of a First Order vessel in Republic space, and Finn is suddenly very grateful for the reassuring weight of Poe Dameron’s jacket on his shoulders.

The coat has seen better days, but it’s wearable at least. Leather from one of Ben’s disused uniforms had salvaged the garment, Hux’s neat stitching holding the whole thing together. It doesn’t look as nice, with the deep black patch running up along the back parallel to the scar on his own skin, but Finn wouldn’t part with it for anything. It’s a record of his choices—of the life he’s made for himself beyond the First Oder’s influence. It’s just as much a part of him as his eyes and his hair and the warm, wonderful light that’s only seemed to grow the further they get from Snoke’s influence.

Ben unloads the ship on the first shady character to show interest—a Toydarian—for far less than the craft is worth, but such is the price of secrecy. They receive enough credits to buy new clothes and tickets aboard a freighter off-world and the creature happily turns a blind eye to the First Order General, Knight of Ren, and Rebellion Fighter who sold it. The craft will undoubtedly have been stripped for parts by day’s end, and the evidence of their escape will be no more.

“You’re awfully good at all this,” Hux comments offhandedly once, after they’ve just witnessed Ben talk down the price of fresh clothes with masterful ease.

“My father used to do business in places like this,” he explains, unloading their prize into Finn’s and Hux’s arms, “and I accompanied him enough to pick up a few tricks.”

Finn can’t help but marvel at the comfort Ben seems to display as he weaves his way through the bustling streets of the port. They’ve changed, now, the only thing remaining of their past life is Finn’s coat. The Alpha has selected clothes of light browns and tans instead of his traditional black. In combination with the relaxed slump to his shoulders, the way he’s tied his hair back, and the soft smile that graces his features, Ben is almost unrecognizable as the Kylo Ren of before.

Hux, on the other hand, seem about ready to crawl out of his skin. They hadn’t been able to talk him out of black, and secondhand clothing doesn’t hang nearly as well over his figure as the uniforms he used to tailor himself. Hux had told him once that he’d been raised in the Imperial academy, and it occurs to Finn that the wild openness of free space may be just as foreign to Hux as it is to him. Finn presses into Hux side as they walk, the Alpha staring at him in surprise for a moment before he slings an arm around Finn’s waist. The look Ben sends them over his shoulder should not make Finn’s knees as weak as they feel.

They’re preparing to board their freighter to the next system on Kylo’s list when Finn’s stopped by a hand suddenly tugging on his jacket. He tenses for a moment, the Alpha’s tensing with him, until they spot what’s halted them. There’s a little girl clinging to the edge of Finn’s jacket, oil-stained fingers leaving murky smears against the brown leather.

“You’re with the Resistance?” she asks, bright eyes wide as she gazes up at them.

Finn’s not a Resistance fighter in the official sense, he’s not signed any paperwork to register officially to the cause or anything, but he’s fought beside their soldiers and the title feels good when he weighs it. And Ben and Hux, whether they’re ready to accept it or not, are Resistance now too.

“Yes,” he tells the girl, “we are.”

The dazzling smile she gives them strokes at the light, and Finn can practically feel the warmth of her admiration. He can feel it from Ben, too, the not-quite darkness pressing up against his mind and basking in the brightness. She presses a grubby package into Finn’s hand.

“My momma saw you walking around earlier. She told me to find you and give you this. We used to live somewhere else, but the First Oder invaded. The Resistance helped us get here safe, so my momma wanted to thank you.”

After that the girl vanishes back into the crowd. Finn hugs the gift, wrapped in a dingy, lumpy cloth, to his chest and allows the Alphas to drag him into the cargo hold of the freighter. When they’re settled, he unwraps it to find a single loaf of bread. It’s not much, barely enough for the three of them, but he thinks he understands its significance.

\--

Rey hears hem before she sees them, and senses them even before then. Han and Luke’s agitation ripples through the Force, the sharp spikes in their scent only confirming her suspicions.

“—know you want to find him, Han, but—”

“—wouldn’t expect someone who abandoned his own child to understand what—”

“—might not like what you find when—”

“I’M NOT LEAVING BEN OUT THERE, DAMMIT!”

Rey only catches bits and pieces of their argument as she weaves her way through the Falcon’s corridors, following the sound of their voices, but this she hears loud and clear. They’re in the cockpit when she arrives, both of them with chests heaving as though they’ve been through a brawl. Lights flash on the console, alerting her that Han had been running pre-checks on the systems before the argument. Their discomfort when they finally spot her makes her skin crawl.

“What’s going on?” She asks softly, eyes darting between them.

This isn’t the first argument they’ve had since Luke’s return, but their previous nattering had seemed to be more affectionate banter than actual altercations. They got into them with Leia, too, when they spent enough time together. This, though, this is an actual _argument_.

“Rey!” Han says, and they’re both clearly surprised to see her. They must have really been going at it, for Luke to miss her approach. “Er, it’s nothing, sweetheart. Your father and I were just having a little disagreement.”

Luke rubs his flesh hand over her face and sighs, clearly realizing that there’s no winning whatever argument they’d been having. ‘If you’re really going out there, Han, I’m coming with you.”

“Sure, thing, Kid,” Han scoffs. “Hey! Why don’t you come along, Rey? We can make it a family trip.”

This draws another aggravated hiss from Luke, but Han happily rambles on, pointing to Anakin Skywalker’s lightsaber, which had been salvaged from Maz’s Cantina and now hangs at her hip.

“Maybe you can even start learning how to use than thing.”

“In the Falcon?” Rey asks, skeptical of the merits of allowing an untrained user to be swinging a laser sword in an enclosed space. She’s also perfectly aware than Han is trying to distract both herself and Luke from the prior argument.

“Sure. The Falcon’s a forgiving ship, and if she survived you father learning to swing that thing around—hey! I might even still have that old droid!”

Han vanishes into the cargo hold, the sound of shifting boxes following after him, leaving Luke and Rey alone in the cockpit.

“You learned to use a lightsaber in here?” she asks, because there’s still tension in the air, and it seems a safer topic at the moment than what they were fighting about. “I always thought you were raised as a Jedi or something.”

Luke laughs at this. “No, no. I was raised by my aunt and uncle on Tatooine. It’s a desert planet on the Outer Rim, a bit like Jakku. They were moisture farmers. When they were killed by the Empire, my Master Obi-Wan Kenobi took me in. It’s how I met Han, actually. We hired him to get us off-world and to Alderaan.”

“I swear, the old man wouldn’t let me within twenty feet of your father without looking like he was about to go for his lightsaber.” Han returns carrying a very old droid that’s clearly seen better days. “Like he thought I was going to just jump him there like some sort of unsavory character.”

“To be fair, you were an unsavory character back then.”

“He still is,” Rey can’t help but input, drawing laughs from both of them.

There’s still tension in the air, the topic of their argument hanging between them, but it’s put aside as they pack the ship and prepare for takeoff, lost in the comfort of memories.


	20. Revelation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You might notice I've changed the title of this piece. I like it a bit more than the previous one, and changing titles is kind of my MO.
> 
> There's a guy named Marv in this chapter. He's just an OC I slapped in there to help move the plot along. Everybody say hi Marv.

Ben knows _codes_ —seemingly inconspicuous words or phrases that, when whispered into the right ear, earn them a hot meal or a bed or a handful of credits. They’re old rebel codes, he explains once with a wry grin, learned from years of growing up with war heroes for parents. It doesn’t matter what planet they’ve landed on, how remote or developed the area is, there’s always someone willing to answer Ben’s requests for help. Hux hadn’t realized just how many rebels there were in the universe until he really began to look.

He’d heard stories, of course, of the Rebel army; history, they called it in the Imperial Academy. Stories of bloodthirsty, primitive savages intent on casting the orderly Empire into chaos. Stories told to frightened, wide-eyed children with nothing to judge their validity against. Hux grew up hating these people because hate was what he was told to feel. Hate isn’t what he feels the old Rebels they meet. They’re not violent, merciless savages. They’re just people, he realizes, nothing more and nothing less. People with soft eyes and big hearts that are so breathtakingly selfless that they would offer their help to a few ragged strangers who’ve become _family_ with just a few words. In the Empire, in the Order, family counts for very little.

The planet Naboo is startlingly green. Green and lush and beautiful, even lit only by its moons and faraway stars. Hux drinks it in greedily after days of being crammed in the cargo hold of a freighter. He’s freshly showered and in clean clothes, still-damp hair ruffled by the night breeze as he stands on a balcony overlooking the city of Theed. Ben has taken Finn out to show him the city where everything started. Naboo is as deeply rooted in the Skywalker line’s history as Tatooine—the birthplace of the Senator and Queen, Padme Amidala. They’d invited him along, but something held him back. It’d almost felt wrong, like he shouldn’t be intruding on such hallowed ground with his Imperial origins. So caught up in his thoughts, he doesn’t hear their host approaching until he speaks.

“So, Hux, huh?”

The Alpha starts, looking over at the Naboo man who’d offered them shelter for the night as he leans against the railing at Hux’s side. Marv, his name is, a Beta. He’d been a pilot in the Rebellion, he explained over dinner, much to Finn’s delight. Finn has a soft spot for pilots, to both his Alphas’ dismay.

“Knew an old Empire Commandant named Hux.”

It’s a question within a statement, and Hux feels himself stiffen. Hux is not a particularly common surname, but thus far no one had put the pieces together. He’d hoped their luck would continue, but seeing as he’s been praised in the past for a striking resemblance to his father, it was only a matter of time before someone made the connection.

Marv laughs, clapping a hand on a tense shoulder. “Relax, kid. If I was going to call the authorities, I would have just done it.”

Hux manages a weak laugh of his own, painfully aware of the loose grip Marv has on him. It’s probably supposed to comforting, but it’s not helping his sudden nerves.

“Does make me wonder what the heir to an Imperial legacy is doing running around with couple of Rebels, though.”

“I-I’m bonded to Ben,” Hux explains, “and we were courting Finn when the Supreme Leader ordered him to executed for his crimes against the Order. Ben and I… we couldn’t allow it. So we took him and fled. Just started running, and haven’t really stopped.”

Marv whistles, slow and deep. “Wild, isn’t it, the things we do for love?”

Love. In truth, Hux hasn’t really thought about love.

Hux and Ben never _loved_ in the Order, and what the three of them have now is far from traditional. They’re fugitives running from, well, everyone really. From Republic authorities for their war crimes, from the First Order for the same, from bounty hunters keen on returning them to one or the other depending on who’s offered the highest price that day. They can’t slow down, can’t stop looking over their shoulders, and have nothing to give but a few stolen kisses and promises that things will get better _soon._ When they reach the Resistance, if they aren’t executed on sight, things will get better.

But he’s standing in a city that knows love more than most—the kind of deep, forbidden love that caused one man to decide that he’d allow the universe to burn down around him if it would save his beloved—and Hux thinks he might just understand. His universe is in pieces, shredded by his own hand, and when he thinks of Ben and Finn’s smiles he can’t make himself regret it. This, he realizes, this is _love_.

“Yeah,” Hux breathes, barely more than a whisper, “wild.”

\--

“Where are they going?” Poe Dameron asks no one in particular.

He’s alone in his quarters, sprawled out on the bunk. BB-8 is powered down in its charging station, and above him spins a projection of Republic space. All throughout it are marks, planets lit up in red to contrast the pale green of the rest, places where sightings of Finn and his Alphas have been reported. To the untrained eye they’d be sporadic, hopping back and forth from planet to planet seemingly at random, but Poe Dameron is a pilot. He’s flown these routes a hundred times, could do it with his eyes closed if it came to that. There’s a pattern here—he just has to find it.

“Where would I go?” He asks as he drags his fingers through the projection, displacing planets and stars when the map blurs around him.

Where would he go, if he were Finn? But no, no, that’s not right. He remembers Finn with his wide, frightened eyes and naivety. The Omega wouldn’t know the first thing about space travel, let alone know somewhere to hide, and the pattern of this map speaks to someone with knowledge of the systems. It wouldn’t be the General—there are too many stops on smuggling planets that an Imperial would never set foot in of his own accord—so it must be Kylo. Or is it Ben now? Something else altogether? Poe doesn’t know.

If he were Ben, where would he go? If he was afraid and on the run and had people precious to him that needed protection, where would he go to lay low and regroup? The whole universe at his disposal, countless planets and their moons and the asteroid belts in between, where would he feel safe? Where could he possibly feel protected enough to relax and stop running for just a while?

 _Home_ is the only thing that comes to mind.

If Poe were in Ben Solo’s place, he would desperately want to go home. He’d want to go home and curl up in his childhood bed and listen to his father snoring in his room down the hall. He’d want to sip hot chocolate in the eaves of the force-sensitive tree and watch the stars in the clear Yavin sky. He’d like to go out in the jungle and explore the ruins of the old Rebellion base the way they used to do when they were small. Home, where it’s safe and warm and nothing can touch him.

Poe trails his fingers along the line of the trio’s projected path, and he brushes the softly glowing orb that is Yavin. Yavin IV, to be exact.

Poe’s leaping out of the bed before he realizes what he’s doing, nearly tripping over BB-8 as he stumbles out the door. He’s in sleep pants and he’s shirtless and he’s reminded vaguely of the rumors of Rey doing something similar when the news of Finn’s escape broke, but it doesn’t stop him from sprinting through the halls to the General’s quarters because he knows. He _knows_.

Ben Solo is going _home_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I struggled with a little bit of writer's block with this chapter and ended up going about it completely different than I intended, but I like the way it turned out.  
> I've also mapped out the rest of the plot of the story. So while I can't give you an estimate on total chapters because I really just free-write until I find a suitable stopping point, I can promise that this is going somewhere.  
> I don't actually know anything about the extended universe or where the Solo-Organa family canon settled down after RoTJ, but Yavin IV has a lot of Rebellion ties and seemed like a good spot


	21. Revelation: Part 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is about the boys

For belonging to heroes of the universe, to galactic royalty, to the leaders of the Rebellion, the house really isn’t much to look at. It’s a squat building, more wide than tall, built in a style typical to Yavin colonies. Though the building is two stories, Ben knows the ceilings sit lower than a traditional home. Han used to complain about having to duck slightly through doorways, but everyone knew it wasn’t much of an inconvenience. The close quarters were comforting to the Alpha, like they were in the Falcon, as it helped to remind him that they were all close at hand. Behind the house is a small lawn that disappears into jungle, and a hanger large enough to hold whatever filled the whims of their flight-driven family. Bedrooms enough for the family unit and one guest, a small kitchen and living space. It’s not much, not when you could be rightfully living in a palace somewhere, but it fit the family just fine.

Now though, a thick layer of dust covers the home. It almost shines in the air when it catches the light and fills the house with the musky scent of disuse. Everything is almost exactly the way Ben remembers it. A precariously stacked pile of books has succumbed to the will of gravity sometime over the years and is now spread out across the floor of the living area, but otherwise most everything remains untouched. Children’s toys still litter the floor, left where they’d lain before—before.

Fifteen years. They haven’t been home in nearly fifteen years. Ben chokes down the swelling guilt in his chest and gestures for the others to follow him further into the house.

Hux and Finn follow dutifully behind as he guides them through the halls and up to the second floor, where the bedrooms are. His parents’ room and the guest room are open, but the doors to Breha’s and his own room are shut tight. There’s a heartbeat where he considered opening the door and ushering the two into his most sacred space, but he directs them to the safety of the guest bedroom instead. Too many memories to handle right now, when all he wants to do is scrub the residual stink of the public transport they’d taken here off his skin and settle down for a little while with his lovely companions.

“We’ll be staying here for a few days before we head off again,” Ben says as they set their packs down on the open surface of the desk in the corner. “We should be safe for now. Very few people know about this place.”

Ben follows Hux’s eyes with find amusement as the other Alpha scans the room, his expression contemplative. Though their bond, he can practically hear his other half making plans for how to tackle the house’s current state. Hux has always been more organized than Ben, and the dusty disarray is undoubtedly grating on the other Alpha’s nerves.

“There’s a ‘fresher in the hall, and another in the master bedroom. You two can go first, while I try to find us some clothes. Towels should still be under the sink, unless they’ve moved since I was last here.”

His old clothes wouldn’t fit any of them, but if he’s lucky Luke and Han may have left something laying around that would serve them well enough until they have the chance to buy something new in town. Rifling through drawers produces a few time-worn outfits that had been eft behind when the family abruptly moved out. A set of Luke’s robes for Finn, as the smallest of the group, and some of Han’s old smuggling outfits for Hux and himself. Nothing black, though, which Ben knows is going to be frowned upon. Parting with the traditional Imperial reds and blacks has, thus far, been the hardest part of Hux’s transition into their new life. His father owns very little that isn’t white or brown, however, so the other Alpha will have to make do with the white tee, baggy leather jacket, and breeches he manages to salvage.

The man himself appears in the doorway of the master bath as though summoned by his thoughts, hair still dripping and a slightly dingy towel held loose around his waist. Even the scare days or two they spend planetside between hyperspace voyages have had an effect on his complexion. What were once pale freckles, kept that way by the darkness of space, now stand out in bright relief against Hux’s skin and have undoubtedly spread further than the other Alpha is comfortable with. Hux eyes the stack of clothing with the expected scowl and distaste, but takes them when offered. Ben irrationally wonders if it is possible to be jealous of a towel. He’s not certain, but he thinks he might have managed it when Hux turns and disappears back into the still-steaming ‘fresher. Finn’s clothes are left just outside the door, and then it’s his turn for the shower.

Clean and refreshed, Ben pads downstairs on bare feet and is immediately assaulted by the sharp bite of cleaning chemicals. Apparently it had taken Hux no time at all to locate the necessary supplies, even in a foreign household. That he’s not even a little bit surprised by his mate’s antics probably speaks wonders to their relationship.

Following the smell to its source, Ben finds the other Alpha in the kitchen, scrubbing at the dusty countertops with fierce determination. The leather jacket he’d been given to wear is draped over the back of a chair, and the scowl previously awarded the clothes now is directed at a spot of dirt that is apparently clinging stubbornly to the counter’s surface. Ben decides it best to leave him be until he is either satisfied with the state of things or works himself into exhaustion.

The omega has a rag in hand and a few of the flat surfaces appear vaguely less dusty, if you inspect them closely. Obviously Hux has tasked him with straightening things up in the living space, but Finn seems to have lost himself in the knickknacks that litter the tables and bookshelves. His parents never had the chance to be materialistic people growing up. A smuggler, a moisture farmer, and a rebel princess; everything they held dear could fit into one bag, because that’s the way it had to be. When they settled, they collected things. Model ships and interesting stones and real photographs—the physical kind, instead of holograms.

Finn’s inspecting one of those photos when Ben reaches him. Three children in the branches of the force-sensitive tree. It’d taken quite a lot of teamwork to get _her_ safely up into the tree, but her delight was well worth it.

“Is this—?”

“Me, yes,” Ben confirms, “and Poe Dameron. And—”

“Rey, right?” Finn asks, wide eyes coming to settle on him.

For just one moment, he forgets how to breathe. Confusion is clouding his mind because yes, that’s right. That is Rey. But he doesn’t remember Finn about his lost sister. He doesn’t remember telling anyone about her, besides Hux, who only knows because _that night_ sometimes returns to haunt him in his sleep.

“Yes, but, how did you know…?”

Finn’s Force powers aren’t near sensitive enough yet to do little more than basic communication and maybe lift a few small objects. They’re growing stronger, yes. Kylo can feel the light getting brighter with each passing day, but for as deep as those memories are buried, as closely as he guards them, there’s no way someone of Finn’s strength could have—

“I thought that looked like her! She still wears her hair like that, you know.”

Finn is just staring up at him with that too-sweet smile, completely ignorant to the fact that what he’s just said makes no sense at all to Ben.

“I think there’s been some sort of mistake,” Ben says carefully, “my sister has been dead for years.”

“No,” Finn responds, looking entirely too calm for having just found out that his suitor had a sister, and that she’s dead. A side effect of the strange course the Omega’s life has taken of late, perhaps. “This is definitely Rey. She helped me get of Jakku. We stole the Millennium Falcon together.”

And this—this is just too much. Ben takes Finn’s face in his hands, and if the Omega is startled by the sudden intrusion into his mind, doesn’t show it beyond a brief hiss at the sensation. Ben shuffles through memories as gently as he can, but mind tricks have never been his specialty. Finn doesn’t try to stop him, instead presenting the images he knows the Alpha is searching for. Pictures of a scavenger girl with three buns and familiar eyes: leading him over the hot Jakku sands, behind the controls of the Falcon, helping him eat in Maz’s cantina. When he’s shown Ben it all, they’re both panting with the effort.

“You,” Ben says breathlessly, grip on Finn’s jaw softening as they struggle to catch their breath, “you are magnificent.”

Because Breha Skywalker-Solo is still alive. She’s alive and well and Finn _found her_. Finn, precious Finn, found his sister and together they stole the only ship in the universe that would guarantee that she’d find her way home.

Ben kisses Finn then, because there really isn’t any other option. When Hux stomps into the room, demanding to know what the ruckus is about, Ben kisses him, too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time, we'll pop back in on the Skywalker part of the Organa-Skywalker-Solo clan,
> 
> The house is still livable because Poe's dad swings by every once and a while to check on it ok fight me I don't have the patience and technical know-how for all that turning on the generator nonsense. Besides, this is space.


	22. Revelation: Part 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Skywalkers cry in this chapter

Rey allows precisely one moment to lose herself in the blurred lights of hyperspace. It’s in this moment that the little droid whose shots she’s been deflecting launches another projectile, stinging when it connects with her torso and searing a neat hole in her shirt.

“Hey!” she squawks, turning an offended look on the droid. It beeps, perhaps apologetically. She’s discovered that she has quite a way with droids over the last few weeks, from meeting BB-8 to her time at the Resistance base. Luke is far less contrite, snickering from his seat on a crate nearby where he’d been observing the proceedings. From what Han has told her, the man has earned his fair share of burns from this exercise, so she supposes he has a right to laugh at someone else’s plight for once. At least she hasn’t been forced into the helmet to block her vision, yet.

“You should never let your attention wander from your opponent, young one,” Luke corrects, but there’s an unmistakable fondness in his voice.

Rey deflects one more shot with her lightsaber before ending the session and powering down the droid. They’ll be in hyperspace for some time yet, but she doesn’t have the attention to devote to practice. Every parsec is another closer to Finn, and this time the lead they have is a credible one. From Poe Dameron himself, according to Leia’s last transmission. She’d been vague on the details of how Poe came to the conclusion that Yavin IV would be their best chance at catching the fleeing trio, but she claimed his logic was sound enough to warrant a course change from their previous destination.

Having a real chance at catching up to them has her on edge. She feels something crawling under her skin—a nameless anxiety that hasn’t left since the General’s transmission. It feels like they’re nearing something important; this chapter of their journey is drawing to an end. No more hopping from one spaceport to another, handing credits to beings with wandering eyes for details of the group that came by. No more reassurances from strangers that Finn is alright. They’re so, so _close_. There’s something new and frightening waiting, if only she’s brave enough to keep moving.

Rey settles down in the space beside Luke, her father scooting over obligingly until she’s free to perch beside him and rest her head on his shoulder. Luke stiffens a moment at the contact before relaxing. Like her, he’s still adjusting to frequent contact after so many years in isolation. The thrum of the Falcon’s engines is familiar now and, in combination with her father’s warm presence, is lulling her into an alien sense of security. It’s something she never experienced in her years on Jakku, where every day brought with it untold dangers. Being able to just _rest_ is still new.

“Who’s Ben?” she asks, because Han is up in the cockpit with Chewie and consequently isn’t here to distract her with something else like he has when she’s brought the topic up before. There’s no better time than now to get some answers. “I heard you and Han arguing about him before you left. Everyone talks about him, but nobody will tell me who he is.”

Luke goes rigid beneath her cheek, and she knows he’s wearing that twisted, pained expression everyone gets when this _Ben_ is mentioned in more than passing. They’ve been dancing on eggshells around the subject since her arrival at the Resistance base, and she’s found herself desperate to _know_. To know who this man is and what he’s done that his very name can fill the air with old sorrow and loss; whose name can turn even the most pleasant conversation into a minefield. Luke tries to get up, but she catches hold of the loose fabric of his robes before he can get very far.

“Please,” she asks softly, eyes wide with desperation, “I need to know.”

Her father sighs, eyes deep and sad when he sits back down on the crate. A strong arm wraps around her, tugging her closer into his side and he turns his head to breath into her hair for just a moment. He’s shaking, she realizes.

“Yes,” Luke rasps, “I suppose you have a right to know.”

She hadn’t been expecting such easy acquiescence, and Rey attempts to pull away in her surprise. Luke’s grip tightens in response and it becomes apparent that she isn’t going anywhere for a while, so Rey relaxes and settles in for the long haul.

Luke begins with “Once upon a time,” even though there’s nothing remotely fantastical about this story. Even though Rey knows it’s all real, and has seen the destruction it’s left in its wake. “Once upon a time, there was a boy.”

She listens intently to the story of the boy called Ben. The boy who was special, who was strong in the Force, who had the weight of a great legacy resting his shoulders. What this boy feared more than anything was failing that legacy. He feared he wouldn’t be strong enough to live up to the expectations placed on him by the people around him, and he feared that he would lose the people closest to him in the process. In his fear he searched for guidance, but what he found wasn’t what he needed. What he found was the Dark, and it whispered in his ears until he began to doubt. He doubted himself, and his goals, and even those people he loved so much. He doubted and doubted until the Darkness turned him against them, twisting at his fears until the boy felt nothing but hate. In his hate, the boy did terrible things.

Luke describes for her the attack on the temple, and Rey is shaking because she _remembers_. She feels the cold sting of the wind and the rain as it lashes at her skin, can hear the screaming of Luke’s young padawans as they flee from a ragged, crimson blade. The smell of ozone and blood heavy in the air, the Force rippling in agony around her as so many of its younglings are cut down like animals. She remembers Luke’s sorrow, his desperation when he realizes that he can’t save them; when he realizes who’s done this; when he wraps her in his arms and carries her into the belly of a cold, sterile ship because at least he can save _her_. He failed them, failed _him_ , but he could protect her.

“I’m sorry,” he’s whispering hoarsely into her hair, and she doesn’t know if it’s for what happened that night, or for Jakku, or for not telling her sooner. Maybe everything. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m _so so sorry_.”

She doesn’t notice that she’s started crying until a sob catches somewhere in throat. Luke never says aloud the words that Rey’s stuck on, but he doesn’t need to. She remembers. She remembers Ben, with his bright eyes and his curly hair and she remembers the afternoon they spent in the Damerons’ A-Wing with Poe. She remember Han and Leia and Luke, young and smiling. She remembers when she had a brother, and everything was perfect. She remembers, and a part of her desperately wishes she still didn’t.

Han finds them like that some time later, huddled together on and looking far worse for wear. It doesn’t take him long to put the pieces together, even without the Force’s assistance, and he looks a bit betrayed that they’ve had this conversation without him.

There’s not enough room for three on their perch, so the Alpha pulls them to the floor instead, gathering them up and holding them close.

“It’s alright,” he tells them, “it’s going to be alright. We’ll find him, we’ll find them, and we’ll make everything alright.”

Rey doesn’t know about that, doesn’t know how things could possibly be alright between them again after everything that’s happened, but Han says it so fervently, with so much hope and determination, that she thinks he might be right.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time: the moment you've all been waiting for.


	23. Yavin: Part 1

Landing is a nerve-wracking affair. Rey’s practically shaking with pent-up energy as she watches the duracrete of the landing pad rise up to meet them, the old freighter touching down without its usual fuss. If she didn’t know better, Rey might say that the Falcon is happy to be back at what she’s informed is home. She’s the first one down the ramp when it lowers, drawing matching distressed noises from her parents as they don’t know what they’re going to find.

Yavin IV is green. Rey’s seen a number of green planets now, through the course of their planet-hopping, but she doesn’t think the lush growth of foliage will ever cease to amaze her. The Force thrums with life here, only helping to compound the energy bubbling under her skin, threatening to boil over. She wants to go out in the jungles and explore, to roll in the grass, to revel in the feeling of _life._

She wants to find Finn more.

“Stay with Han,” Luke instructs her with a firm squeeze of her shoulder, reinforcing the command before he disappears in the direction of the hanger that’d been pointed out as they landed.

Han’s hand splays on the space Luke’s had covered a moment before, steering her in the direction of the home while Chewie stays behind to run checks on the Falcon. The other hand hovers over the grip of his blaster as they walk, careful despite his optimism. History has made the Alpha understandably cautious. Anakin’s lightsaber is heavy at Rey’s hip. She’s not sure how much help she’ll be in a fight if Ben or the others react aggressively to her presence, she’s not been practicing very long and Ben has been training as a Sith for _years_ , but she’ll use it if she has to. Poe had told her about his capture on Jakku—about Kylo Ren stopping his blaster bolt midair. Han’s weapon will be useless if Ben intends to harm them, but she could at least try to hold her brother off long enough for Han to escape, or for Luke to arrive.

The front door is unlocked, much to her surprise, and they pass through the threshold without any resistance. Rey takes it as a positive sign; if Ben intended to keep them away, the door would have certainly been locked. Han tells her to stay in the entryway before he moves further into the home, but Rey quickly finds herself following after him.

It’s quiet in the home, the only sounds Han’s heavy footsteps as he tramps from room to room and the whirr of what Rey assumes is laundry, though she can’t place exactly where it’s coming from. The air still carries the chemical tang of the freshly clean, but it’s overlaid with Finn’s familiar scent. There are two more scents, both similar and distinct, that she assumes belongs to the Alphas. They’ve definitely been here, and recently. It’s like a weight lifts off her shoulders at the realization that they might just find them this time. She stops in the living space, settling down on an old couch and waiting for the others to return from their exploration. She doesn’t remember enough about the space to be of much use. Rey can’t help but think that it would have been a nice pace to grow up in.

The front door opens and Rey tenses, but it’s just Luke. He’s walking as though it’s sacred space, eyes wide as he takes in the details of the room around her. Han comes back down the stairs shortly afterwards, a couple of shabby packs in hand. He sets them down on the edge of the coffee table in front of Rey’s sofa.

“Their stuff’s still here, and the laundry’s going. Can’t find anybody, but it seems like they planned to come back here.”

“There’s a speeder missing from the hanger,” Luke informs them. “You think they went into town?”

Han ducks into the kitchen, a colorful expletive slipping from his lips when he knocks his head against the top of the low doorframe. The noises of cabinets opening and closing follows, and when he returns he’s careful to duck low enough not to repeat his earlier mistake.

“Emergency stash of credits is gone. I’d say town is our best bet.”

“If you think they’re coming back, why not just wait for them here?” Rey asks.

“The situation with Ben and the others is going to be unpredictable enough as it is,” Luke sighs, “and barging in on territory they’ve made a claim on, however temporarily, would only make it worse.”

Rey grew up, for the most part, alone. She’s still learning the intricacies of more advanced societies and how dynamics relate, but she recalls how hesitant she’d been even in allowing BB-8 into her makeshift home back on Jakku, how carefully she kept the secret of its location from the other scavengers, and thinks she understands what Luke’s getting at. She certainly wouldn’t have been pleased to return and discover the little droid sitting in her AT-AT.

“Would be best to meet them out on neutral ground.” Han agrees. “Is there another speeder in the hanger we can take?”

The trio prepare to leave when Luke confirms the presence of another speeder in the hanger, pausing only when Rey knocks into the coffee table when she rises, sending the bags on its edge spilling onto the floor. One of them hits harder than is expected, the metallic ring of impact catching their attention. Rey is the closest, bending to rifle through the spilled pile of ration packs and bacta patches and other miscellaneous supplies until she finds the source.

Her fingers brush against cold metal, and what she uncovers is the cylindrical hilt of a lightsaber. Luke’s face pales at the sight of it, and she knows that it must be Ben’s.

“He’s got to be pretty confident that they won’t be found, if he left unarmed,” Han comments.

“Maybe he just didn’t want to draw attention to himself,” Rey replies, thinking of the way even the other Resistance fighters stared at her ‘saber in passing. “If they’re trying to lay low, toting a lightsaber around wouldn’t help them.”

“Whatever the case,” Luke says stiffly, “at least we know he won’t have it to fight with, should this go poorly.”

He turns to leave, Han following after a moment’s hesitation, and Rey sets the weapon gently back on the tabletop. There’s something whispering that she needs to bring it, that leaving it here is foolish, but she chalks it up to Luke’s lessons on how a Jedi’s lightsaber is their life and jogs out of the home after the others.

\--

There is something off. Finn doesn’t know what, but he can feel it crawling over his skin like so many small insects. It’s unsettling, and a direct contrast to the bright mood Ben and Hux seem to be in. He follows after them through the aisles of the open-air market that makes up the heart of the town nearest to Ben’s childhood home. The stalls are filled with all sorts of colorful merchandise, from food to clothes to children’s toys and droid parts. Ben chats amicably with the vendors and customers they pass, apparently completely at ease. Even Hux seems relaxed under the pleasant warmth of the Yavin sun, going so far as to try his own hand at bartering with a twi’lek vendor selling a deep red shirt that’s caught his eye. He doesn’t get nearly good a deal as he might have with Ben doing the negotiating, but he’s far too pleased with himself for either of them to comment. Hux and Ben have started a domestic squabble about staying away from First Order colors when Finn feels it again—the crawling, tingling sensation. Finn is still learning about the Force, but Ben had explained its warnings once during an agonizingly long hyperspace jump.

“Guys,” he says, anxiously catching the Ben’s sleeve and forcing him to a stop, “I think we should go.”

“What’s the matter?” Hux asks, brows furrowed.

“I don’t know. Something just feels… wrong.”

Ben is scowling, gaze flickering around the market as though he suddenly expects something to leap out at them.

“Are you sure?” He asks, hand hovering over the vacant spot where his lightsaber would usually hang.

Finn nods and Ben steps between him and Hux, firm hands on their lower backs to steer them to the exit where their speeder is parked. They try to play nonchalant, walking at an even pace that isn’t quite a hurry, but Finn gets the feeling that a few of the people they pass are seeing through the act. Ben is rigid, and Hux’s smile is so forced it’s almost painful to look at. Weaving their way through the crowd, they’re almost to the exit when a familiar voice calls out.

“Ben!”

They turn, almost as a unit, and at the far end of the aisle are Han, Rey, and a man Finn doesn’t know but doesn’t half to be told is Luke Skywalker. He hears the sharp breath Ben draws at the sight of them, the Force around them oppressive and chaotic. It shouldn’t be, because Rey and Luke Skywalker burn like twin suns and Ben’s signature is far from the inky black it used to be, but it is. It sets Finn’s teeth on edge, makes him tense even though he wants nothing more than to run to meet his lost companions. He wants Han’s reassuring presence and Rey’s warm hand in his, but something is _wrong_ and until he figures out what, he’s not keen on leaving the Alphas’ side.

“Rey,” Ben breathes, wide eyes focused on his sister as he takes in the sight of her standing before him, Rey looking back at him with a similar expression.

It doesn’t take Hux long to put the situation together, pressing his shoulder into Ben’s on the Alpha’s other side—a comforting gesture and signal of solidarity. Luke Skywalker hasn’t taken his eyes off Ben, the intensity of his gaze almost frightening. For a long moment nobody moves, engaged in a precarious balancing act; both groups playing a game of chicken to see who dares to break the moment first.

Han Solo takes a few hesitant steps forward, and Ben is moving.

His hands slip from their place on Finn and Hux’s backs and he moves toward the other group in long strides. Han freezes, trying to interpret the man’s advance. Finn’s been with him long enough now to know that it’s not aggression that makes Ben’s shoulders tense, that makes his hands curl into fists as he walks. Hux sees it too, judging by the way the tension is slowly bleeding from him at Finn’s side. No, Ben isn’t displaying aggression at all—he’s trying to _hold himself back_. He’s trying to keep an even pace, to remain calm, when Finn can read in every line of his body that the Alpha wants nothing more than to break stride and rush to greet his family.

Ben is halfway down the aisle when Finn feels it—that warning tug from the Force. The Alpha is too far to reach, now, and the sound of a blaster cuts through the ambient noise of the market. There’s a shout stuck somewhere in his throat, and he can’t do anything but watch as the bolt sears through Ben’s shirt. The Alpha stumbles to his knees, grasping as his side as blood blooms from the wound and stains his white shirt crimson, his ragged gasp of pain inaudible as the market erupts into chaos around them.

Bystanders scream when the sources of Finn’s anxiety make themselves known, emerging from the shadows. Hooded figures, faces covered by elaborate masks, weave their way through the stalls and draw near, red-orange lightsabers or blasters in their hands. The Dark that oozes from them makes Finn’s head spin, seems to constrict around his ribs until he’s struggling for every breath. Hux and Finn make a dash for Ben; Luke, Han, and Rey doing the same. They circle the wounded Alpha as the Knights of Ren draw near, and the two Jedi among them ignite their blades.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lmao ya'll thought this was going to be a good chapter?  
> They're Skywalkers. Nothing's ever easy for Skywalkers.


	24. Yavin: Part 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry to leave you hanging all weekend! I had an essay due. Boo, college.

Red, red, everything is red. From the blood oozing between his fingers to his vision to the heady combination of rage and fear that’s filtering through his bond with Hux. The Darkness is calling out to him in his anger and agony. The temptation to reach out, to take hold of the addictive power if offers, is there.

“Kylo Ren,” A Knight calls, and the name grates in the way Ben Solo had grated when he was fifteen and foolish, “the Supreme Leader has called for your return to his side.”

 _No, no, no_ , he doesn’t want to go back. Ben Solo wants to stay here, with his Finn and his Hux and his family. He can feel them in the Force, so close and so frightened. The Darkness beckons in his desperation. With it, he would be strong enough to protect them. With it, he could fight. This wound they’ve inflicted would be nothing more than an amplifier to his terrifying power. But this time he’s spent with Finn in the Light…

“General Brendol Hux and FN-2187-O, you are to be sentenced to immediate execution for your crimes against the First Order.” Another Knight proclaims.

 _Just this once_ , the Dark croons in a voice that sounds suspiciously like Snoke’s soft rasp, _just this once won’t hurt_. _They need you, after all_.

In the Force, he can feel his Luke’s tension; he can feel the man’s disdain for the Dark that hovers just within reach. Even in this injured state, his uncle is hesitant in turning his back on Ben lest the Dark swallow him up and an attack come at the group’s vulnerable back. Rey shares this anxiety, though not as strongly. Memories of the time they spent together as youths war with the memories of his attack on the Temple, muting her fear of him. Finn is a pillar of stubbornness and stability, determined to get them out of this even armed with nothing but his bare knuckles and a rudimentary grasp of his own power. Together they burn like a thousand dying stars, their heat grounding in his distress.

Ben reaches out to that Light—lets it wash over him, licking up his arms like flames and engulfing him in its warmth. The Dark hisses as it’s driven away, his roiling emotions soothing with its disappearance. Ben holds tight until the Dark is nothing more than a muted whisper in the far reaches of his mind. He holds tight until his vision clears, until the pain of his wound is dulled by the center he finds, until he can draw an even breath and make out the situation around him.

A dozen Knights, each will combat and Force skills honed to perfection for years by Ben himself, in a loose perimeter around his family. Lightsabers, blaster pistols, and a sniper somewhere out of range if his wound is to be believed. They haven’t moved, likely awaiting some form of response from him.

His family consists of two relatively untrained Force-sensitives, two regular humans, and a Jedi Grand Master who hasn’t seen combat in nearly fifteen years; two lightsabers and one baster pistol between them. His mother is too far away to be of any assistance, even if they could somehow contact her forces. As far as tactical advantage goes, there is no denying that they’re lacking. If they want even a chance at getting out of this mess alive, they need him. They need _Ben Solo_ , not the monster he is capable of becoming.

The Force is sluggish to answer when he calls, like a great beast waking from slumber. Ben is not surprised as he feels it wind lazily around him; it has been so long since he’s called upon the power of the Light side. It helps that Luke is there, his uncle’s presence jarring loose memories from his formative years when this power was still new and he was still learning to master it. He calls on those old techniques now for balance, for control. He pushes himself to his feet, releasing the pain he feels into the void and allowing the Force to fill the empty space it leaves.

“I will never again bow to him,” Ben snarls at Knights that were once his to command.

No one is surprised when they move to strike.

\--

Two lightsabers, one blaster pistol, and a wounded psuedo-Sith against a dozen armed, Force-sensitive children. Han would like to say that these are the worst odds they’ve ever faced, but there was that one time they faced down an entire space station with nothing but an untrained Luke’s lightsaber, Han’s blaster, and an angry princess.

Yes, he would most certainly count Leia’s fury as a weapon of its own.

Luke is still as graceful as the last time Han saw him fight. It takes him times to get back in the swing, but muscle memory is not easily forgotten. The stiffness of his forms gradually smooth, and then he’s flowing across the battlefield like a river. He’s combatting two Knights at once, two others already fallen to his blade in the early minutes of their conflict. Those two had been too young, too reckless, too bold to take time to properly assess their opponent. Those that battle him now are wiser.

Rey is faring well enough that she does not require his attention. Her opponent far surpasses her in size and strength and wields an orange lightsaber. She has the advantage of being more nimble than they, using her size and speed to dodge their strikes and stay out of their reach. She darts in to deliver swift blows to the Knight’s armor with her own blue blade whenever the opportunity of an overreach of missed step presents itself.

Finn has managed to disarm one of the baster-wielding warriors, proving himself lethal even without a weapon. The Omega has wrestled his opponent to the ground, has managed to pry loose the Knight’s mask, and has set himself upon them with bleeding knuckles and a viscous snarl.

Ben fights with the Force, his mate at his side. The ginger Alpha is doing what he can to keep Ben’s vulnerable back protected, but it’s apparent that he hasn’t seen much combat and they’re both quickly exhausting. Ben’s blood drips freely from his wound, only exacerbated by the fight, and his weakening control over the Force is visible even to Han’s untrained eye.

Han fires shots at the Knights approaching Ben and his mate, scattering them, and sees a flash of silver from the corner of his eye as Rey’s lightsaber is knocked from her grip. She grabs a fallen tent pole from the rubble and wields it like a staff until she has to opportunity to summon her weapon. Finn’s opponent has stilled beneath him and Luke’s challengers are no more, but their chances are growing slimmer with each passing second. Luke is at his side then, eyes alight with a kind of primal fury that only a parent is capable of. Something in Han’s brain wonders, not for the first time, if that was what Darth Vader looked like behind his mask when he threw the Emperor into the second Death Star’s core.

“You need to get them out of here,” Luke snarls, eyes locking on more advancing Knights.

They’ve faced worse odds, but the lives they risked then were only their own. Han doesn’t need confirmation to know that children’s lives are not ones they’re willing to sacrifice.

“Get the kids, get to the speeders, and get them out of here.”

“What about you?”

Rey dives for her lightsaber, barely igniting the weapon in time to block a blow that would have certainly been the end of her.

“I’ll hold them off. Buy you time to get away.”

“Luke, we just found you. I can’t—”

Ben’s legs give out, the Alpha slumping into the grip of his battered and now-defenseless bondmate. Finn rushes to their aid. The boy is limping.

“Han, go,” the Omega growls, stepping to face his newest challengers, green blade twirling in skilled hands.

“Luke—”

Luke glances over his shoulder. “Go!”

With a push from the Force behind the command, Han is moving before he has a chance to reconsider. He fires again on the Knights drawing too close to Ben and his companions for comfort, forcing their opponents to take cover while he catches their attention. It takes very little to communicate the escape strategy to the ginger Alpha, who immediately grabs a fistful of Ben’s jacket and begins hauling his wounded mate in the direction of the speeders while Finn assists in keeping their path clear. A well-place shot fells Rey’s opponent, and Han grabs her by the forearm and steers her toward the others in a run.

“We got to go, sweetheart,” he hears himself saying.

“What about Luke?” Rey asks as he hauls her onto the back of the speeder, panic lacing her voice. “We can’t leave him here!”

Han risks one look over his shoulder, where his mate stands between them and the remaining Knights of Ren. He doesn’t want to leave Luke; he’s just found him. That primal thing in his chest is screaming for him to go back and drag his mate from the fight, consequences be damned. He watches Luke dance through combat and grips tighter to Rey as she begins to squirm, repeating the same protests over and over. The strength of Luke’s Force command is the only thing that holds him back, that gives him the will to pull himself onto the speeder and take off down the path toward home and the waiting Falcon. The engine of the boy’s speeder roaring behind them isn’t enough to drown out his daughter’s frantic cries. Han grits his teeth and grips the speeder’s controls until his knuckles and jaw hurt, nudging speeder forward just a little faster.

 _Luke’s strong_ , Han tells himself. _We found him once, we can find him again_.

Behind them a Knight lands a lucky blow, the hilt of their lightsaber connecting with the Jedi’s skull, and Luke Skywalker crumples.


	25. D'Qar: Part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Han breaks some bad news and Hux has a face-to-face with his mother-in-law

Leia paces the control room on D’Qar like a caged Rancor, trying to remain some semblance of casual while simultaneously not wandering too far away from the main com link. Han and the others were due to check in hours ago, but they’ve received no word from the crew. There’s been plenty of time for them to reach Yavin, to find the boys if they were going to. The silence is unnerving, and around her the Force is in upheaval. Leia may not be trained in its ways with the same sophistication as her brother, but Leia is a child of Skywalker. The Force is strong with her. Something has made it fret and roil. It makes her fret as well. There’s something wrong; she can feel it.

The com crackles to life.

“Falcon to Base. Is anybody hearing me?”

Leia rushes to open the link, the relief of hearing Han’s voice almost knocking her off her feet. His transmission is coming in fuzzy and broken, but it’s confirmation that he’s alive and that’s almost enough. Poe Dameron is at her side in an instant, having been arguing for the chance to go out after them when the prolonged silence was broken. Leia hadn’t really heard a single thing he’d said during that time, as caught up in her thoughts as she was. He flips switches toggles with dials until the crackling fades, and Han’s voice is stronger.

“Falcon to Base. Anybody out there?”

“We hear you, Falcon.” Poe says, a relieved smile curling his lips.

“You’re hours late for your report, you nerf-herder,” Leia snarls into the mic. “What’s going on out there?”

Officially, Han and crew are on a scouting mission. Sending them out to look for potential Resistance sympathizers sounded better on the record than sending some of the efforts’ most valuable assets to the aid of a few war criminals. Poe and a handful of the highest-ranking command staff are the only ones who know the mission’s true objective.

“Sorry to worry you, your royal highness,” Han says and while the banter is familiar, there is something off in his tone.

“Han?” Leia presses, “What’s going on?”

“The intel you gave us was right. We found a couple of First Order deserters on Yavin, just like you said we would. Negotiations were going well, right up until we were ambushed.”

The coded speak is frustrating, but there’s no way around it. It won’t do to reveal Kylo Ren’s ties to the Resistance until Leia’s had a chance to lay all her cards on the table. The First Order deserters were obviously Ben and his companions, the negotiations: convincing them to return to the Resistance, which left—

“Ambushed?”

“The Knights of Ren weren’t too keen on letting our new friends go easy. There was a fight; we had to high-tail it out of there. We’re going to need a med team on the runway when we touch down, Leia. We’re in pretty bad shape.”

“We’ll be waiting,” She assures her mate, hearing his voice grow more and more distressed as he speaks. “We’ll be waiting, Han, just get here and we’ll—”

“Leia, we lost Luke.”

Leia feels her blood run cold, the floor seeming to drop out from under with a single sentence. Beside her, Poe has stiffened as well. The Beta’s eyes are wide in surprise and horror.

“What?” She asks, but it’s barely more than a whisper. She doesn’t even know if the com really picked it up, or if Han was already planning on explaining.

“We were outnumbered, outgunned. Sniper got a lucky shot in early, took down one of the deserters. We were losing. Luke told me grab the kids and run. He said he would hold them off while I—”

The Alpha makes a choked noise, cutting himself off in the process.

“He’s still alive. I’m sure of it. But they have him, Leia.”

“We’ll worry about that when you get here, Han,” she hears herself saying without much thinking about it, “just get here. We’ll figure something out.”

A crashing noise from the other side of the link followed by some impressively colorful language from Han indicates that all is not well on the Falcon.

“I’ve got to go, Leia, the kids—”

“Go. Go. Get here safely.”

The com link clicks off, and Leia feel like her head is spinning. Her son is coming home at last, but they’ve lost Luke. Her brother, her sweet brother, is in the hands of the First Order now. She can’t seem to string thoughts together to give coherent enough orders, for all her head is swimming. Fortunately, Poe seems to understand. The Beta whistles, drawing the attention of the room before shouting orders to the waiting crowd.

Once the majority of the group has dispersed, adequately distracted by their various tasks, he places a reassuring hand on her shoulder. “We’ll find him, General.”

Leia nods, steeling her resolve before pulling away. She doesn’t have time to wallow in this; this war isn’t going to fight itself. She has soldiers to command, tasks to delegate. When Han arrives, she’ll allow herself to worry. Until then, she’ll be strong. Leaving Dameron to prepare an escort for the Falcon through the atmosphere, she slips from the control room and heads toward the medical bay where she can oversee their preparations. She’ll be strong enough for all of them.

\--

General Leia Organa is both everything and nothing like Hux has expected. She’s quite short, to start, considering Ben’s considerable height. An Omega—built small and lean like her brother. The lines of her face, carved into skin, speak to a lifetime of too much war and not enough peace. Hux is under no illusions, however, that any of these things make the woman before him weak. She all but radiates authority, holding herself with the bearing of a woman who has faced true despair and clawed her way free. She has fought for every advantage she has.

Even in the Imperial Navy, stories of General Leia Organa circulate. The princess turned senator turned general who commanded the cobbled-together Rebel forces to victory against the vast and powerful Empire. The inheritor of her father’s gift for ruthless stratagem and her mother’s eye for the bigger picture. Even among her enemies, she is well respected. When Hux was young, still in the Academy, he used to image that one day he would be the one to best this woman; he would be the one to finally force her surrender. Now, though, she’s standing at the foot of his bed and he can’t even force himself to look directly at her.

It could, however, have something to do with the fact that one of his eyes has swollen shut.

As far as fights go, Hux imagines his could have gone much worse. A black eye, a sprained wrist, some bruising, and a handful of superficial lacerations are the only damage he received. He likes to think that he has, perhaps, even come out on top considering these wounds were inflicted by some of the First Order’s finest warriors. The sheets on his bed in the medical bay are scratchy and uncomfortable and he’s cuffed to the railing by his unwrapped wrist, but he survived an encounter with the Knights of Ren. They’re finally beyond Snoke’s reach. They are, for the moment, the closest they will likely ever get to safe.

“I apologize for the binders,” Organa says, breaking the silence. “Security procedure. I’m sure you understand, General.”

She’s not really sorry, and he does understand. It’s the reason he hasn’t commented on it to any of the staff who’ve come to poke and prod at him since he came around hours earlier. That they’d seen fit to sedate him straight off the Falcon rankles, he hadn’t been _that_ aggressive, but one of the friendlier orderlies had answered his inquiries into the conditions of his mate and Finn. Both are stable, though the former is still unconscious. Finn is being debriefed by some of the higher command staff. He’s heard that Finn’s first aid aboard the Falcon is what saved Ben’s life, and Hux thanks the Maker for the foresight to make basic combat medicine a requirement for ‘trooper squadron leaders.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, he recalls Phasma’s all but glowing pride in the man’s skills. Even in her reports, the woman’s pleasure at Finn’s success was palpable. It seems like a lifetime ago, now. How strange, how fast one’s life can change.

“Is there something I can help you with, General?” He asks. Calling his bondmate’s mother by her military title is inexplicably strange to him, but she referred to him by his title as well, so they obviously haven’t reached informality through their shared connection to Ben.

“I’m here to determine whether or not you’re actually a First Oder spy, and this is all some clever ruse to gain Resistance intelligence.”

“I’m almost insulted by the implication, General,” Hux scoffs.

Organa answers with her own snort of dissatisfaction. “I know, trust me. I wouldn’t bother with this, but the rest of high command thought it best if we went through this process anyways.”

“I assume Finn has gone through this, as well?”

“It wasn’t necessary with Finn. He comes with a glowing character recommendation from my bondmate, my niece, and nearly every last one of my pilots even though Dameron’s the only one that’s actually met him. I’d have a riot on my hands if I tried to throw the kid out.”

So, Ben’s assumption at the beginning of this misadventure had been correct. Even if the Resistance decides he and Hux are more trouble than they’re worth, they’ve already adopted Finn as one of their own. The Omega would be kept safe in the wake of their execution, should it come to that. Hux sighs in relief, feeling like a weight has been lifted off his shoulders.

“You know, if I were a good spy, I would never give you reason to suspect,” he drawls.

“Trust me, if you were a spy, I’d know,” At Hux’s skeptically raised eyebrow, she adds, “I’ve got a talent for reading people.”

“You’re Force-sensitive,” Hux guesses. It’s not like he hadn’t _known_ —more like he hadn’t given much thought into the source of Ben’s powers.

“Did you think he gets it from his father?” Organa says with a dry chuckle. Hux manages a few of his own, but the bacta patches over bruising on his chest don’t allow for much. “Come on, General, let’s get this over with. I’ve got better places to be, and the med team says you can be discharged once you’re cleared of suspicion.”

“Of course, General.” Hux responds with wry amusement. Yes, he thinks he might come to like General Organa.


	26. D'Qar: Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We drop in on Poe & Rey

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> YOU GUYS.  
> You're amazing. For real. Thanks for sticking around as long as you have and enjoying this story. Kisses for all of you.

So far, the identities of the deserters in the medical bay have remained hidden from the curious Resistance fighters, but there is only so long the ruse can be kept up. Already rumors are spreading and, though none of them are nearing accuracy yet, tensions between the Solo unit and the rest of high command are rising. Every news transmission from within Order territories carries with it the risk that Snoke may have grown weary of trying to regain control of his lost pet and simply cut his losses, revealing the true face and identity of the Master of the Knights of Ren. They need to get out in front of this.

Poe Dameron trudges down the corridor away from the med bay, toes of his boots scuffing on the floor. They hadn’t let him in to see Finn while they were treating him, and now they’re barring any contact until the debriefing process is complete. It grates at Poe’s nerves that he’s being shut out. In the Resistance hierarchy, he is a Commander. It’s a prestigious title, but nothing short of Admiral is enough to earn him access to such a sensitive situation. He understands how delicately the matter must be handled but, in his opinion, that’s all the more reason to let him help. Poe is well-liked among the Resistance. He grew up as a brother to ben Ben, witnessed his fall, suffered at his hand. He may not trust the Alpha, may not ever really forgive him, but if Leia and Rey and Finn are willing to give him a chance then Poe is as well. If anybody can help the rest of the Base see their point of view, it would be him.

BB-8 comes rolling back with a concerned trill, the little droid having gotten ahead of him in his sedated pace.

“I’m fine, BB,” Poe sighs, kneeling to pat the droid’s domed head, “just a lot on my mind.”

An understatement, in Poe’s opinion. Pushing himself to his feet, he follows the droid down the remainder of the corridor, pausing at the next intersection and considering his options. As the fleet is still grounded, concealing the base’s location a top priority with their newest arrivals, he can’t be up in the air without the General’s approval. He could head to the hanger and tinker more with Black-1, but he’s done so much of that over the past few days that he may finally have to admit that there’s only so much maintenance to be done on a ship that isn’t flying. He picks another direction, instead, heading toward the pilots’ quarters.

While she technically isn’t a pilot, Rey’s mechanical know-how and passion for all things airborne have led to a quick adoption by the squadrons under Poe’s control. It hadn’t taken much convincing to have her moving her belongings from the sparsely-populated wing dedicated to high command and into the quarters she now shares with Jess. It’s not much of a step down in terms of anything but space, the Resistance doesn’t have the resources to spoil its leaders the way the First Order might, and Poe suspects the lively atmosphere is more to the Alpha’s tastes anyways. If Poe had spent as many years on a desolate desert planet as Rey did, he wouldn’t want to go back to quiet, empty quarters every night either.

His troops shout greeting from their rooms as his passes. There’s an enormous amount of trust required in any fight. You have to know your fellow soldiers have your back, which means bonding on the ground is just as important as any drills they do up in the air. Pilots wander between each other’s quarters freely, the space more communal than personal. Music from a dozen worlds blares through the hall, creating a strangely comforting cacophony in combination of the pilots’ chattering. It sounds like home.

Pausing in the doorway of Jess and Rey’s shared quarters, he raps his knuckles against the doorframe in common courtesy before stepping through the open door; the doors here are rarely closed. Rey is on the floor beside her bunk, the bottom one, in a kneeling position that Poe has come to recognize as her preferred pose for meditation. Luke had once balked at his daughter’s ability to find peace in such a chaotic setting, but Rey swears up and down that the background noise helps her to connect with the Force. Her eyes open a fraction, taking him in.

“Jess is in the hanger,” she says.

“I figured.” Jess has barely left the hanger in days, nearly as stir-crazy as Poe himself. “I wanted to talk to you, actually.”

Rey looks surprised, but climbs onto her bunk nonetheless. “I wasn’t really getting anywhere, anyways,” she sighs.

Poe considers her as she shuffles over, making room for him. Her father was a General at her age. In the Clone Wars, Anakin Skywalker had been charged with the lives of countless troops when he was barely more than a child himself. The thought turns Poe’s stomach. Rey looks so young—not nearly prepared for the challenges that have been thrown at her in recent weeks. For all her strength, she is just as confused as him. He can’t help but wonder if maybe the original Jedi Order deserved to fall, as terrible as it sounds.

“Did you get to see them?” Rey asks as he drops into the freed space beside her.

“No. They’re still shutting me out.”

“They won’t let me see them, either.” Rey huffs, worrying her lower lip with her teeth. “What do you think they’re going to do?”

Poe can understand her concern. Finn is a close friend, and Ben her brother. Though she doesn’t know him beyond her memories, he’s still one more family member than she’d had before. With Luke missing, the stress of potentially losing more of those fragile connections is weighing heavy on her mind. He suspects that’s likely what she was meditating over before his interruption.

“Finn will be fine. He’s practically a Resistance fighter already with everything he’s done for us. As for your brother and his mate, I guess it depends on whether or not High Command thinks they can convince us that they’re worth the risk of keeping them around. They have a lot of valuable intelligence, but they’re war criminals. There’s a lot of hard feelings over the things they’ve done for the Order.” Poe shrugs a little helplessly.

Rey appears lost in thought, eyes unseeing as she considers Poe’s words. Poe doesn’t insult her by asking if she’s alright. Her world, so newly crafted, is already in pieces. The Alpha doesn’t want his platitudes, and he can’t promise that everything will turn out. There’s a very real chance her brother— _their_ brother—will be executed and that, somewhere, her father is already dead. Instead, he takes her hand in the way she’d once complained Finn had and tries to offer some small comfort. BB-8 bumps into his legs where they dangle off the bunk, offering its own support in the form of a low humming sound. Rey giggles at the droid’s antics.

“You’re right, BB.” She says, managing a weak smile. “Whatever happens, we’ll face it together.”

Rapping from the doorway reveals Han Solo, wearing his battered leather jacket and a lopsided grin.

"Thought you kids should know they're releasing Finn," the Alpha says, "if you were waiting to see him."

Rey fixes Poe with a wide, hopeful smile and they're off the bed in an instant, racing past Han toward the medical bay to greet their companion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rey and Poe are bros.
> 
> I keep forgetting to mention that I'm totally open for prompts over on my tumblr (glaregryphon) if you want to throw some at me for little one-shots or whatever?


	27. Intermission: History

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A brief look in on the start of Han, Luke, and Leia's relationship.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've had this written out for a while, but wasn't really sure where to put it! Here is good enough. A little intermission chapter 4 u.

“This is ridiculous,” Han Solo snarls, pacing the length of the small kitchen in a few long strides.

The Yavin house is a recent acquisition, purchased after the discovery of Leia’s pregnancy. The home is small, cozy, and close enough to old Rebel base to bring with it the positive associations of their victory over the first Death Star. Luke had been so happy when they’d told him, offering to assist with the child in any way he can, but you would have to be an idiot to miss the underlying look in his eyes. It’d done nothing but solidify Leia’s resolve to discuss this matter with her stubborn mate.

Leia snorts at Han’s complaints. “You’re the only ridiculous one here,” she drawls.

The little Omega is perched delicately on the countertop, careful of her slightly swollen stomach, rifling through a bag of confections she’d sent Han out to retrieve in the middle of the night. He had expected thanks for his little jaunt to town for the frankly repulsive treats she’s been craving recently, but instead she’s ambushed him with _this_ conversation. Again.

“I’m not—”

“Han Solo: living any other Alpha’s wet dream and he’s too sensitive to grab the tauntaun by the horns and go for it,” Leia mocks.

“How can you say that?” Han snarls, “He’s your brother! It’d be wrong for me to—”

“You didn’t seem to think it was wrong back on Hoth, when he walked in on us in that storage closet and you invited him to—”

Han cuts her off with a distressed noise, hands fisted in his unruly brown hair. He hasn’t stopped pacing since Leia brought the subject up, but they’ve gotten further than her prior attempts to discuss her brother’s compatibility with Han. Usually the Alpha sees it coming and cuts her off before she can even begin. Leia, however, is a politician. She is nothing if not patient when she needs to be.

“I don’t see how you can be so casual about this.”

He’s been this way since Leia revealed her and Luke’s connection on Endor: skittish and overly sensitive, to the point of avoiding Luke altogether sometimes. It’s infuriating. The nerf-herder can’t see what it’s doing to Luke—or what it’s doing to her. Something needs to give. She needs her family in her life, Han needs his Omegas, and the last time she’d seen Luke it was obvious he hasn’t much better off. After so many years sharing the same space, years of seeing each other every day, years of casual contact, this distance is driving them all insane.

“I don’t see why you’re making such a big deal out of it.” She retorts.

“He’s your _brother_!” Han hisses the word like it’s toxic, like it carries some secret weight she’s not privy to, like she’s missing something.

“That doesn’t change the fact that you two are compatible, Han”

“Luke wouldn’t want—”

“Luke and I have spoken extensively on this matter, and I can assure that he does want.”

Leia sets the bag of snacks beside her on the counter, reaching out to snag Han’s shirt with sugar-sticky fingers on his next pass across the kitchen. She draws him close, nearly eye-level with him for once thanks to her perch on the countertop. It takes a firm grip on is chin to make him meet her eye, though. Han’s are wild and confused—the way they always get whenever she brings up Luke. He’s tearing himself apart trying to deny his connection to the other Skywalker Omega, and it’s not doing any of them any favors.

“Yes,” she sighs, “Luke is my brother. But we were raised apart for almost twenty years, Han. That’s a long time; I don’t think we’ll ever be able to be what we were supposed to. But I do know that I need him here. _You_ need him here, and he needs us. It’s not like we don’t have the space.”

“What if this doesn’t work?” Han asks weakly, like a frightened child.

Leia scoffs. “Doesn’t work? We’ve made this work for years, Han. In the middle of a war, at that! We were fine then, even with the risk of one of us running off on some idiotic adventure at any hour of the day. How difficult can peace time possibly be?”

Han chuckles softly, finally relaxing under her hand and leaning into her touch. The Alpha tucks his face into her shoulder, drawing in her soothing scent.

“Ok,” he mumbles, “ok. We’ll give this thing a try.”


	28. Reunion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! I didn't mean to leave you hanging for so long, but school got wild there for a bit. Hopefully things will cool down soon so I can get back to my regular update schedule :')

Rey watches Finn struggle in changing his clothes, the bandages on his chest somehow having to manage to come loose and tangle with the fabric of his shirt, pinning his arms above his head and rendering movement almost completely impossible. Poe bounces around him, fretting, tugging at this or that and trying to help but overall only succeeding in making the matter worse. They’re all laughing, ribs aching, the ridiculousness of the situation a welcome distraction from the chaos of their reality. It feels good to be together again after their abrupt separation. Rey knows she missed Finn’s smile, his presence, but she didn’t realize how much until he’s right there with her once again.

It’s becoming exceedingly apparent that there will be no way to save the medic’s neat bandaging. As unhappy as they’ll be about having to rewrap it, it’s the only way to rescue Finn from his fabric and gauze prison. Rey pushes herself off Finn’s medical bed, where she’d perched to watch the show, and bats away Poe’s hands when he goes to tug at another dangling strip of fabric. At this point there are very few ways the Beta can possibly make the situation worse, but she’s not about to let him inevitably stumble upon them.

“Hold still,” she says over a giggle, stilling the squirming Finn with a hand on his back, hunting for the end of the wrappings furthest down his back.

Nimble hands make quick work of the task, unwinding the gauze and slowly revealing the skin below. She can’t help the way her breath catches when she reaches the scar, pale in contrast to his dark skin. Poe sees it too, judging by the look on his face and the agitated hiss that escapes through his teeth. Rey runs a delicate finger over the edge of what’s been so-far revealed and regretting it when Finn starts at the sensation.

“Finn, what happened?” She asks, having stilled in the process of unraveling him, concentration brought up short by the sight of the ugly wound.

“Uh… you don’t know?” He sounds surprised.

She shakes her head, realizes he can’t see it, and gives him a verbal response. At her side, Poe is rigid.

“It was an accident,” Finn is quick to assure, “just an accident. I fought with Ben on Takadona. Lost my footing and fell and he…”

“Finn—” Rey sighs, her sympathies cut off when Finn rambles on as though he won’t have to hear them if he just keeps talking.

“They stitched it up when we got back to the Order, but with the escape and traveling and the fight it kept reopening. Med-Droids say with a couple days rest it should heal right up, though.”

The smile he gives them over his shoulder, twisting at the scar in a way that pulls at the delicate skin and makes Rey flinch, is most likely meant to be placating. It falls just short, his worry showing through in the over-wideness of it and the acrid tang of his usually pleasant scent. He’s clearly concerned for their opinions toward his suiters, who are to blame for the injury however accidental. They, at least, were diligent in keeping it clean over the course of the journey. Rey recalls the astonishing surplus of medical supplies that’d fallen out of their bags when she’d inadvertently knocked them to the ground in the Yavin home. It made sense, now, why they would feel the need to carry so much.

“Alright, Buddy,” Dameron says for the both of them, ceding to Finn’s obvious preference to drop the subject.

A swift elbow to Rey’s ribs gets her working again, unwinding the rest of the fabric and trying not to wince as it reveals the rest of the wound which covers the expanse of his back. Finally free of the bandage’s restraints, Finn is free to finally wiggle loose from his issued scrubs. Poe hand him a standard-issue Resistance uniform, like the ones he and Rey wear, which was resting nearby.

He’s just tugging the shirt over his head when the curtain surrounding Finn’s cordoned space rustles, announcing a visitor, and Rey knows from the smirk Poe gives her when he briefly catches her eye that he’s about to do something incredibly foolish.

“Let me help you with that, Buddy,” Dameron croons, catching the edge of Finn’s shirt as he makes to pull it over his shoulders.

The Beta does it for him, and Rey doesn’t miss the way his fingers skim along the skin of Finn’s torso as he does. Their visitor doesn’t either, judging by the near sub-audible growl that sounds in the space. Dameron, smoothing the shoulders of the uniform, flashes Rey a victorious smile when Finn twists away to look at the newcomer.

Finn’s delighted smile at the sight of the ginger Alpha in the doorway is almost sickeningly sweet. Rey, who has never really had an inclination for a partner one way or the other, thinks she might be able to understand how the cheerful Omega managed to sway the mind of two of the most-feared Alphas in the galaxy with his charm.

“Hux!” Finn calls, crossing the space, going up on his toes to catch the Alpha around the neck in a tight embrace. “You’re up!”

“And discharged with temporary pardon,” Hux replies, winding his arms around Finn’s waist to balance the Omega. Poe snorts at the mention of a pardon, earning a glare from Hux.

“Don’t worry, Dameron,” he sneers, “I’m sure I’ll be rightfully tried and executed once the war is over. Until then, I think we have bigger problems.”

Unable to argue with that assessment, Dameron huffs and makes to slip past them, pausing only to place a hand on Finn’s shoulder.

“We’re heading to the mess, Buddy. See you later.”

Finn does not notice that the touch lingers just a bit longer than is socially appropriate, wrapped up as he is in Hux’s presence. Hux himself does, however, if his disgruntled look and the reappearance of that growl says anything. Rey follows, catching up to the Beta when they’re out of the medical bay.

“You know, I might not be the most well-informed on social customs,” she reprimands, “but I’m pretty sure antagonizing an Omega’s suitors is not going to do you any favors.”

“Relax, Rey,” Poe says with a cheeky grin, “it’s just a little fun. The General may have made them off-limits for any kind of punishment for now, but that doesn’t mean I can’t make things a little difficult for them. Besides, nobody’s getting hurt.”

“Nobody except you, maybe,” Rey mutters.


	29. Reuinion: Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More reunions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A Ben chapter! It's been a while since we've checked in on him.

Ben surfaces slowly, clawing his way free from the murky darkness of unconsciousness and toward something _important_. He can’t quite place what it is, not when his mind is pleasantly quiet and still, but each time he reaches for the surface the prod from the Force gets stronger. He can’t stay here in the dark anymore, no matter how much he almost wants to. He needs to get up; he needs to do what it is the Force is asking of him.

A medical droid is whirring in alarm when he opens his eyes, vision focusing sluggishly against the bright light. The air around him carries the sharp tang of antiseptic and bleach, mechanical pinging of equipment carrying from outside his limited sight. High curtains block much of his view, cordoning him off from the rest of the room. For a moment he is disoriented, his last memory of Finn and Hux all but carrying him into the Falcon not aligning with his current location. The medical droid, previously hovering by the end of the bed, makes its way over quickly when Ben begins to try and rise, issuing a series of concerned clicks and beeps that are likely some attempt to placate as it gentle presses him back against the mattress. Unfortunately, his binary is many years out of practice and he only catches every fourth word. What finally stills him is the Resistance insignia painted on the droid’s chest in its classic bold orange.

The Resistance. They’ve made it.

His wounded side protests any further movement in a dull, throbbing ache, and Ben allows the droid to tuck him back into the sheets. Apparently pleased with his cooperation, it pats his unruly curls with one of its claws before disappearing beyond the curtain. The strangely affectionate gesture leaves him a bit dumbfounded as he’s been dealing with First Order droids for many years—mechanical beings who’ve had the emotions programmed out of them just as well as the Stormtroopers they served. Ben moves to attempt to tame what is a severe case of bedhead, only for one of his wrists to catch halfway. He glares down at the pair of binders holding him to the bed and supposes he should have seen that coming.

Hux’s bond hums pleasantly in the back of his mind, a soothing presence in the wake of his mate’s absence. He responds eagerly to Ben’s mental prodding, sending back warm affection and reassurance. He’s alive, safe, and likely in the presence of Finn judging by the echoing thrum of the other man’s Force signature through the link. The confirmation is enough to bleed the remaining tension from his body.

The curtain rustles, allowing a severe-looking woman into Ben’s space. She’s a Beta judging by her scent, wearing a traditional medic’s uniform, a major’s rank badge pinned to the front of her shirt. The woman pays him no mind, flicking through the datapad in her hands in favor of addressing him. Being so obviously ignored is awkward, and Ben finds himself shifting uncomfortably while he waits for her to finish.

“You’re finally awake, then?” She asks abruptly, peering at him from over the frame of her glasses.

Ben, unsure of whether this is a rhetorical question, does not answer.

“You’ve come to before, but dropped off pretty quick,” she says in way of explanation, “just making sure this is finally it. I’m Dr. Kalonia, head medical officer. I’ve been supervising your recovery as per General Organa’s request. She’s been notified of your condition. I need to take your vitals while she’s on her way down.”

The mention of his mother all but drains the blood from his face, no doubt leaving him even paler than he already is after so many years behind a mask. As much thought as he’d put into returning to the Resistance, he doesn’t think he ever considered actually having to face his mother. Han Solo, yes, and Uncle Luke. Even Rey, when he discovered she was still alive. But Leia?

He knows better than most how much his mother has suffered for her cause. First the Empire had taken her family and her world, and then the Order rose to destroy the fragile life she’d built for herself in the time between. Ben had a hand it that. Ben used those delicate connections against her, striking where he knew it would hurt the most. He drove her brother into exile, sent her mate on a frantic search through the galaxy, allowed her to believe he had killed his own sister. He tore at the fledgling New Republic, reveling in the suffering his mother must have felt as it became more and more unstable in the wake of First Order’s incursions. Of all the lives he ruined, hers was perhaps the worst. Leia Organa would never retreat the way his uncle had, or given in to despair like his father. Leia Organa would bear those wounds and more, clinging to the fading light of her world until she drew her final breath, helpless to do anything but watch as what she worked for slowly slipped through her fingers.

How could she ever forgive him for such a trespass?

The very thought makes Ben ill, and it’s only a flare from her Force presence that drags him from his despair. She stands before him in her Resistance uniform, greying hair pulled up in an unfamiliar but expectedly elaborate style, face contorted in an expression he can’t quite place. At some point during his introspection the doctor had completed her exam and departed, leaving them alone.

The slap he expects, the sharp sting of his cheek just another addition to the other pains that cover his body. What he doesn’t expect is he embrace that follows, one arm wrapping around his shoulders and the other splaying over the back of his neck as she tucks his face into her shoulder.

“You’re safe,” Ben hears her say into his curls, almost a whisper. “You’re home.”

Ben’s side protests the position, nearly bent double as he is to compensate for his mother’s diminutive stature, but he finds he doesn’t care. Not now, when his mother’s arms are tight around him and his head is swimming with her familiar, soothing Omega scent. Instead he pushes the pain aside, clinging to her uniform as he’s overcome by a fresh wave of shame. His breath comes in soft sniffles, eyes stinging with tears he refuses to shed because after everything he’s done—to her, to everyone—she is still here comforting him.

As a child, during one of his earliest visits to the New Republic’s Senate, Ben had wandered too far and gotten separated from Leia. He’d wandered the halls for what seemed like hours, lost and confused and helpless. Eventually he’d tucked himself into an indent in the wall, curled up and choking on the fear of being left behind—of never finding his way home. Of course his mother had found him only a short while later, pulling him from his hiding place and up into her arms, shushing away his hiccups and sobs with quiet promises to always find him, no matter how far astray he’s gone.

She kept that promise, he realizes, sitting there in her arms like the frightened child he’d been all those years ago. He’d wandered quite far this time, but when he was ready to come home, she sent someone out to find him.

He can’t stop the broken whine that slips past his teeth.

“I’m sorry,” he tells her, because what else can he say? “I’m so sorry.”

“I know,” she murmurs, “I know.”


	30. Signs

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay. Real life, man. I didn't get as far as I wanted to in this chapter, but I don't want to leave you hanging any longer.

With their release from the medical bay comes a subsequent relocation to the sector that houses High Command. It’s isolated enough to shield the trio from prying eyes, with quarters large enough to house them comfortably. It also, though this would likely never be admitted, conveniently accessible to the many commanders who drop by with questions at all hours of the day. Finn doesn’t particularly mind, as his Stormtrooper training sometimes required he keep odd hours, but the Alphas are less than thrilled the third time they’ve been woken before dawn for another bout of questioning.

The hunt for Luke Skywalker is going slowly. Hux spends the better part of his days away from the room, spitting out First Order intel as fast as they can record it. Supply routes, outpost locations, com codes. Anything and everything they could possibly want to know or could help in the search for the missing Jedi. His presence is missed after their close proximity during their travels, but Finn isn’t given much time to dwell. Ben keeps him busy enough.

With little else to do, neither he nor Finn actively involved in First Order politics enough to be of much use, Ben has thrown himself into training Finn in the ways of the Force. It’s a slow process, with Ben faltering in the exercises he leads Finn through as frequently as the Omega himself. He’s out of practice in working with the Light, and Finn can sometimes feel the frustration rolling off him in waves. Rey doesn’t help.

The initial excitement over his sister’s survival has tapered off into poorly-concealed anxiety. Finn would tell him that Rey feels the same, but he doesn’t think that would help. Neither Alpha seems quite sure of how to approach the other, resulting in an awkward dance of conflict and avoidance that Finn is trapped in the middle of. Rey is curious about her newest family member and eager to spend time with Finn following their separation. She frequently drops by their training and meditation sessions, hovering near Finn and observing. Sometimes Finn can coax her into participating. These are the better days. Though Luke gave her some basic instruction in the Force before his capture, Rey is still as newly awakened in her power as Finn. They stumble together as they learn, or re-learn in Ben’s case, katas and meditation and other core skills.

The days she simply observes are the worst. Rey remains quiet and out of the way, but the Alpha has yet to master the concept of shielding and her presence within the Force can be nearly oppressive when she’s paying you close attention. Ben doesn’t help the matter. Finn doesn’t need his Force sensitivity to know that he’s desperate to impress her. While Finn is free to move about the base as he pleases and Hux has limited movement when accompanied by approved personnel, Ben is all but sequestered in their quarters for fear of some well-meaning Resistance fighter discovering him and doling out the punishment he’s not yet due. As such, he and Rey have had little to bond over beyond these lessons. While his temper has improved since his rejection of the Dark Side, Ben still frequently works himself into frustration as he falters in demonstrations of more advanced techniques. He hasn’t yet regained the fine control to master them, leading to mistakes he finds far more embarrassing than they actually are. These days often end with him storming into the ‘fresher to cool down, leaving Finn and Rey staring forlornly after him.

“Why does he do that?” Rey finally asks after a particularly bad episode. “Why does he get all upset when he messes up?”

“He wants to impress you,” Finn says, remembering the feeling of Slip looking at him in awe after a particularly good shot at target practice or after taking down a larger opponent in hand-to-hand. “He wants you to look up to him, and he thinks the Force will help you two connect better.”

Rey frowns at that. “He doesn’t need to prove how strong he is. Luke told me what happened. I know what he did, and I know he came back from that when he brought you here. I do look up to him for that.”

“Maybe you should tell him that,” Finn suggests, pulling on his jacket and making for the door. “I’m going to the mess. You want anything?”

She shakes her head no, and Finn leaves.

Later Ben will thank him, when Rey’s finally gone and they’re alone. Hux returns shortly after, climbing into bed with an exhausted groan. It’s a tight squeeze for three of them, but they manage to make it work. None of them can complain about the accommodations, after the time they spend in cargo holds or bumming couch space off old Rebels. Tonight Finn is pressed between the wall and Ben’s chest, with Hux curled around Ben’s back.

“Have you told them about Starkiller yet?” Ben asks over his shoulder.

Hux, growls unhappily about his mate keeping them awake, but does answer the question. “Not yet.”

“Why not?” Is Ben’s response.

“I have a feeling it’s not the right time.”

“And when will be?”

“I suppose we’ll have to wait for a sign.” Hux snaps, exhaustion finally getting the better of his usually control.

Ben huffs, unsatisfied with the answer, but settles back down. Even he knows when the conversation is over.

\--

When the sign comes, it’s a message on the Millennium Falcon’s com channel. While discovering that the First Order has undeniably been intercepting the old Correlian freighter’s communications is unpleasant, it does clear up the debate as to how the Knights of Ren found the Skywalker clan on Yavin. It’s something of a relief to know that they’ve been betrayed by technology and not a spy in their midst.

The message reads thus:

_SOS_

_LS on SK with KoR._

_NR destruction imminent._

_Immediate action required._

_P_

The message makes its way through the command center, passed from technician to technician as they try to decode some deeper meaning behind the words. Eventually the datapad makes its way to the General, who sweeps from the room and down the winding halls to the Officer’s quarters where their newest arrivals have been staying since their discharge from the medical bay. Those she passes wisely stay out of her way.

“Do you know what this is?” She asks, shoving the datapad into Hux’s hands.

The Alpha’s widen, nostrils flaring in surprise. Reading over his shoulder, both Finn and Ben wear matching expressions of shock and horror.

“It means,” Hux growls, face contorting in to a calculating expression she’s seen in the mirror far too many times, “that we have work to do.”

This is how Leia comes to be standing in the overcrowded Command Center, watching Hux fiddle with the holoprojector in the center of the room. He’s produced a datachip from Force knows where, he’s been searched dozens of times since his arrival, and is loading its contents while the room watches on. Their fighters fill nearly every inch of the space, High Command closest to the projector and everyone else perched on any available surface, flat or otherwise. They’re curious to get their first look at the First Order defectors that’ve been, until this point, hidden away from the general populous. Hux seems unfazed by the attention, like a side effect of years commanding his own forces, but Ben seems to be doing his best to hide from scrutiny behind Finn. A useless endeavor—her son towers over the Omega—but Finn is apparently inclined to humor him because he shuffles in what little available space to stand more fully between Ben and the rest of the room.

Dark Lord of the Sith, Master of the Knights of Ren, Jedi Killer: titles for a frightened boy playing make-believe and hiding behind a mask.

This isn’t how Leia intended things to go, but from Hux’s rushed interpretation of the message, they’ve run out of time for the diplomatic solution. She’s throwing the boys head-first into the Resistance’s maw and hoping the soldiers she’s trained will not bite. Han squeezes her shoulder, offering a reassuring smile from where he stand at her side. He can no doubt feel anxiety all but radiating from her in this terrifying moment of sink or swim. The lights of the room dim, Hux having apparently mastered the controls already, and the holoprojector lights, casting the room in an eerie blue-green glow.

Leia Organa feels her breath catch, blood turning to ice in her veins. Han is a statue at her side, the other old Rebels cast about the room wearing matching horrified expressions. They don’t need to be told what it is that they’re seeing; they’ve seen monsters like it rise and fall.

_Starkiller Base._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, I keep forgetting to mention. If ya'll are into Obikin at all, you should go check out [ Go Away Closer ](http://archiveofourown.org/works/6139860/chapters/14068806) And drop a comment/kudos. It's a great fic with lots of cool art that the author is currently having to re-upload after some dickweed hacked their account and deleted the original. They could use some support.


	31. Plans

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter fought me tooth and nail. I am very sorry for the delay.

Only beside the image of its predecessor can Starkiller’s truly monstrous scale be realized. In comparison to the massive base, the Death Star could be nothing but a large asteroid or a distant moon. Finn watches on as Hux lists off the weapons specifications: how it was made, how it works, how much damage it could do if fired. Finn can spot the anxious shuffling typical to new recruits on the far edges of the room, Hux’s extensive knowledge of the base and the calm demeanors of the seasoned veterans likely the only thing keeping them from delving into full-fledged panic.

“Are we sure of the New Republic as a target?” Leia asks, drawing Hux’s attention from where he’s caught up in a conversation explaining the science of absorbing and storing a star’s energy in the planet’s core with a few of the technological officers. Though Hux has yet to say it outright, it must be abundantly apparent to the listening Resistance fighters that this base is his creation. No one else would know it as intimately as Hux does. “I know you trust this source of yours, General Hux, but we need to know for sure that this is the right target so that we can start evacuation procedures.”

“The New Republic has been slated for destruction since construction on the planet began. It was only a matter of time before the Order made a move on it.” Hux explains. “It’s where the _Finalizer_ was headed before the affair on Takadona. Our subsequent defection is likely what’s delayed the attack this long.”

“So what’s our strategy, here?” Poe calls out, “There’s got to be some way to beat it.”

“We could blow it up,” Han suggests with a wry grin, “there’s always a way to do that.”

“In order to contain all that energy,” one of the Lieutenants says, circling the holoprojector in thought, “there has to be some kind of central oscillator…”

“Here!” Finn steps forward, pointing to a hexagonal shape on projected map. “Precinct 47.”

“It seems all that time in sanitation served a purpose after all,” Hux teases, drawing a blush from Finn before turning to address the rest of the room once more. “If we can find a way to infiltrate the planets’ shields, I have the access codes to lower them. With the aid of the New Republic fleets, it should be relatively simple to destroy the oscillator.”

“The real trouble will be the Knights of Ren,” Ben growls, finally stepping out from behind Finn. All eyes immediately swivel to him, and Finn can feel the discomfort rolling off him in waves. “They won’t make it easy for us to infiltrate the base or rescue Skywalker. Finn, Rey, and I could draw them away long enough to free Skywalker, if properly armed. As it stands, Rey is the only one between us with a weapon.”

“You mean a lightsaber,” Poe scoffs incredulously. “What do you expect them to do? Hope the Knights are feeling merciful?”

“Finn has been formally trained in ‘saber technique,” Ben sounds almost offended by the implication, “and Rey proved herself quite capable during our confrontation on Yavin.”

“This isn’t Yavin!” Poe protests, clearly unhappy about this plan. “This is their home turf. You can’t really believe—”

“I am Master of the Knights of Ren,” Ben snarls, drawing Poe up short. He’s been amicable through the time they’ve spent together thus far—amused even by the Beta’s deliberate riling of Hux, who doesn’t know that Dameron identifies somewhere on the ace spectrum—but he is unaccustomed to the flagrant disregard of his authority. Ben is a fountain of Alpha dominance, and Poe flinches away instinctively. “I know their power, and I would not suggest this plan if I didn’t believe them capable.”

Finn can feel Leia’s distress as the implication of Ben’s words finally registers to the room. This is not how the Omega intended to reveal her son’s identity—how she’d intended to reveal the presence of _Kylo Ren_ among them. Hux is tense where he stands by the holoprojector, too far to do anything should the situation come to violence. The shouts and protests of the Resistance fighters escalate until one of the young ones draws their weapon, getting it into their head that they’ll protect everyone from the monster that served at Snoke’s right hand. Finn tenses, prepared to jump to Ben’s defense, but Rey is faster.

The cerulean blade of her lightsaber ignites in the space between Ben and the Rebel, its sweeping arc forcing the man back a few staggering steps. She’s facing him then, her back to Ben, the weapon illuminating her features with its glow. Teeth bared, eyes narrowed, she is the quintessential image of an Alpha defending her family.

“Lay a hand on my brother,” she snarls, “and I will remove it.”

It’s enough to silence the room, attention swiveling from the siblings and toward the two Generals nearby. Both of them appear slightly mortified by the sudden turn in the briefing and Leia is the first to recover, answering the unspoken question.

“Yes,” she admits with a put-upon sigh, “Ben is our son. I recognize that we should have told you sooner, but what’s done is done. We can worry about the repercussions when we don’t have the destruction of the Republic hanging over our heads.”

There is still a lot of unhappy grumbling, but the General’s words are apparently enough to return attention to the task at hand. The attacker steps back into the crowd and Rey deactivates her lightsaber, returning it to its place on her hip.

“Well,” Hux says, breaking the awkward silence that follows, “does anyone have any suggestions on how to get past these shields?”

Han Solo smirks, failing to disguise just how pleased with himself he is, “I think I may have an idea.”

\--

Luke Skywalker wakes in a cell.

As far as cells go, it’s not a bad one to be in. Durasteel walls and a floor with a drain; an imposing-looking, chair-like object at its center. It’s well-lit, quite spacious, and a temperature that might be considered too warm for others but fails to account for a childhood spent under twin suns. In fact, it’s practically cozy in comparison to some of the cells he’s been held in—especially on the Outer Rim planets where slavery ran rampant and regulations were few and far between. They’ve even gone so far as to leave him on what looks like the mattress of a camp bed that’s been stuffed to one side.

If Luke didn’t know better, he might think the Knights had plans for him beyond his eventual demise.

He’s uncuffed, but makes no move on the woman that strides through the blast doors a short while later. It occurs to him that his cell must be monitored, but it is only a minor inconvenience in the grand scheme. Attempting flight now would likely prove disastrous, as he has no clue as to where he is. The life forces of thousands pulse around him, but that tells him little beyond the large size of the base. He fixes his attention back on the woman.

She’s an Omega. Quite tall, blonde hair, wearing the uniform of someone who should be above delivering what looks like a bowl of protein paste to prisoners. Sharp eyes take him in and she must decide that he’s not about to do anything rash because the tension in her form fades. Just slightly, but enough to inform Luke that she isn’t seeking a fight either.

“I’m General Phasma,” she says, setting the bowl down on floor near the blast doors. “I would apologize for the accommodations, but we both know I wouldn’t mean it.”

Her dry wit draws a chuckle from Luke. “May I ask where we are, General?”

“You’re being held on Starkiller Base, until such time as the Knights see fit to deliver you to the Supreme Leader.”

“Any idea of when that might be?”

One can never be too prepared, and any semblance of a time table will tell him just how fast he needs to get off this planet.

“I’d imagine they’ll want you to watch the destruction of the New Republic, to break your spirit before presenting you to their Master.” Phasma hums thoughtfully, “That is, if the Resistance doesn’t find you first.”

There’s something off in her tone as she says it—something that Luke doesn’t quite understand. It’s almost hopeful, which is an emotion a General of the First Order should not be projecting when speaking of a rebel incursion and prison break. It’s there, though, solidifying into something closer to certainty the longer they stare each other down in the silence following her declaration. This woman is positive that the Resistance will reach him before Knights hand him over. Such certainty can only mean…

Luke smiles genuinely at General Phasma, Omega, Traitor. “Thank you.” He says, and means it.

Phasma, with her back to the holodevice recording the scene, smiles in return.


	32. Escape: Part 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Honestly every comment I get about people shipping the prequel squad as an OT3 in this 'verse brings me life.

For the most part, the Knights leave Luke be. Perhaps they think the isolation will wear on his mind and work in their favor; perhaps they really don’t believe him to have any use besides a valuable trophy to present to their Supreme Leader. Either way is almost pathetically shortsighted. He just spent the last fifteen years meditating in the First Temple. Though he would like to be back with his family, there is little that the isolation can do to harm him. As for his value as a prisoner, he’s Luke Skywalker. He’s a well of information about both the Resistance and the Jedi. He could be a valuable asset, if they could only break him. They don’t seem keen to try.

Phasma visits frequently, delivering meals and makes a show of pretending to interrogate the prisoner. It’s a dance that can only be had by an experienced interrogator with an equally-skilled subject: not-questions exchanged for not-answers in a way that looks convincing to the untrained eye. He spends the time between her visits in meditation, now an old, familiar comfort. Sometimes he thinks he sees father or Ben’s ethereal forms settled in the corners of the rooms, but they never speak and never stay long. Perhaps it’s interference from the heavy Dark Side presence that hangs about the base. Perhaps they have nothing to say. The pattern holds for longer than Luke thinks it will.

He’s had plenty of time to investigate the contraption at the center of the cell, and is consequently unsurprised when the Knights finally do snap, dragging him over to the interrogation chair and restraining him. Luke doesn’t fight them—not about that. Even as experienced as he is, there are four Knights with lightsabers in the room and he is unarmed. He can’t take them all alone, even if he somehow managed to get one of their weapons.

“Where is the Resistance base?” They demand, circling him like starving predators.

They caught a Resistance scout on their scanners, he learns, but the pilot had made hyperspace before they could tag the X-Wing. Wherever this base is, whatever weapon they’ve got hidden away on it, the Resistance now knows. The Knights scream demands, occasionally interspersing them with a physical blow or two, to reveal the Resistance’s base’s location. Luke Skywalker does not yield to the likes of these children.

Their attempts to pry the information from his unwilling mind go no better, and Luke almost laughs at the way their minds press against his formidable mental shielding like fingers scrambling uselessly for purchase on flawless durasteel. It’s not surprising. Ben’s talent was never for mind tricks—rather, physical manipulation of the Force. It’s his Skywalker heritage, the strength of his inborn Force affinity, which gave him the power to dig through minds. Without the proper training, which the boy hadn’t had upon his defection from the Jedi path, he wouldn’t have been able to effectively pass that particular skill on to his less-gifted followers.

Instead of ignoring them, like he could, Luke lashes out in turn, familiarizing himself with the skeletons they so desperately try to hide. Luke digs into their minds and drags their secrets to light one by one until they’re hesitant to approach, hissing and spitting with fear and wounded pride. They’re used to being the most powerful. They’d gotten the best of him on Yavin, when he’d been caught off guard and had his family to protect. He will not give them that now, when he has a Skywalker’s strength at his disposal, nothing to lose, and everything to gain.

Three of the Knights storm from the room in a fit of frustration, the last to leave snapping at the fourth Knight to remain in the cell and guard the prisoner while they confer with the others. The blast door slams shut, and suddenly they are alone. Just Luke and this Knight and—

A brush from the Force, and Luke cranes his head around as far as he can get it, meeting the eyes of the ghostly blue silhouette of Obi-Wan Kenobi where he stands by Luke’s shoulder. The Force Ghost smiles at him, the soft, encouraging quirk of his lips he used to give Luke on the rare occasions they met in his childhood. It’s familiar and soothes against the edges of his mind that are rough and raw from the Knights’ attacks.

“If you were going to make your escape,” Ben suggests, “now’s the time.”

Luke turns his attention back to the Knight, aware of Ben’s presence fading, and summons the Force to him.

He’s glad it’s this Knight that they’ve left behind. Luke had discovered a great many things in rifling through their minds, but this Alpha boy has a secret Luke had willing left alone: he doubted. He was afraid of Snoke, insecure in his power, doubtful of the Order’s cause. He puts on a convincing facade for his brothers in arms, but he could not hide this truth from Luke. He’d felt the near-palpable relief in the Force when the Omega hadn’t mentioned it, but the boy might change his mind after this.

Luke mutters a string of nonsense syllables, just loud enough to catch the Knight’s attention. The Force coils around him like a serpent, prepared to answer him when he calls. He watches the boy shudder against the strength of the Light, but the Knight approaches none the less.

“What did you say?” The Knight growls.

Luke levels his gaze at the Knight, and commands. “You will remove these restraints, and you will leave this cell with the door open.”

The boy straightens from his hunched posture when the brunt of the command hits him. A part of Luke whispers to be wary, that this could be a clever trick, but there is no trace of deception in the Force. The only thing he reads from the poor, weak-minded boy is the contented compliance of the Force-persuaded.

“I will remove these restraints and leave this cell with the door open,” the Knight repeats, pressing a button that releases the bonds around Luke’s wrists and ankles. The Omega rubs at the raw skin of his flesh wrist and twists around to watch the Knight go.

His eyes catch on the lightsaber swinging from the man’s hip, and hastily adds, “And you will drop your weapon!”

He feels foolish for having almost forgotten.

“And I’ll drop my weapon,” the Knight says, the unlit hilt of the lightsaber clattering to the floor.

Luke hesitates a moment, allowing the Knight some distance before striding to the now-open blast door and scooping up the ‘saber. The hilt is awkward in his hands, but there will be time to collect his own later. For now, he needs to figure out where he is on the base and devise an escape route.

Evading the Knights of Ren countless battalions of Stormtroopers in an unfamiliar base that’s preparing for a Resistance attack?

Just another day for Luke Skywalker.


	33. Hyperspace

Rustling through one of the Falcon’s numerous smuggling compartments, Han Solo finds what he was looking for: a medium-sized crate outfitted with an impressive locking system. Despite the number of years the Falcon spent away from him, most of the better-concealed compartments have been left undiscovered and their contents intact. Even if this particular compartment had been opened, whoever had gotten into would likely have given up before they got anywhere close to prying this box open. Its redundant locking mechanism required a physical key, Han’s bioprint, and a voice print. He pities the junker who might’ve tried to get at its contents.

There’s an impressive amount of sand and dust coating everything, tickling Han’s nose as he drags the crate out into the main corridor. Ben, Finn, and Rey hover nearby, their curiosity palpable in the air. Hux is sulking in the cockpit with Chewie, following the near-miss of a confrontation with Dameron on the runway before takeoff. It’d taken the better part of Ben’s physical strength to wrestle his furious mate into the freighter after witnessing Dameron dropping a kiss on Finn’s cheek and wishing him well. Finn had entered with a furious blush on his cheeks, not meeting either Alpha’s eyes. Ben had just appeared contemplative, though was his son was thinking was beyond Han’s grasp.

Cracking the box open, Han hears the kids suck in a breath at the sight of its contents. Lightsabers, Jedi robes, and other miscellaneous gear he’d managed to scavenge from the ruins of Luke’s temple. It’d been torture to dig through the wreckage, seeking anything that had been spared in the chaos, but leaving it to the scavengers that would eventually comb over the place hadn’t sat well with him.

“The robes probably won’t fit,” he mumbles, pulling out a few of the lightsaber hilts and laying them on the floor, “but these should still work. Worked when I found ‘em, at least. Luke’s given me the lecture on the importance of crafting your own ‘saber, but considering we don’t have time for that…”

Rey still has Skywalker’s old lightsaber hanging on his hip, so Finn kneels first. He pokes through the little pile with intense concentration, finally selecting one of the sleek, silver hilts. The blade that erupts from it is blue, like Rey’s, but the hilt is smooth, unlike the ribbed grip on hers. He stands, twirling it in his hands a few times before grinning down at Han. It feels better in his hand than Anakin Skywalker’s had when he’d used it on Jakku, as evidenced by the fluidity of his movements despite being out of practice.

Ben takes significantly less time, if only because there is a hilt familiar to him among the pile. Han wasn’t sure what he’d been thinking when he’d placed it among the pile, but when Ben ignites the purple blade of his original lightsaber, pride swells in his chest—like his son has passed a test neither had known he was taking.

“Hux will need a blaster,” Ben says absently, inspecting his old weapon and stepping back from the others to perform a few experimental swings. It’s undoubtedly different from the ragged, unruly red blade of his former weapon, but Han has faith that his son will make do. Between their Skywalker and Solo DNA, Ben and Rey carry an unparalleled determination. One could call it bantha-headed stubbornness, if you were feeling less kind.

“I have plenty laying around,” Han replies, closing the box and resealing it before tucking it back into the compartment, “so long as he doesn’t shoot Dameron with it when we get back. Leia would skin us all if she lost her best pilot.”

“I’ve got a plan to handle Hux and Dameron,” Ben mumbles vaguely and turns to his companions. “Come on, we should run some practice drills before we arrive. You shouldn’t go into battle with an unfamiliar weapon, if you can help it.”

Finn and Rey both nod, following the elder Alpha in the direction of the cargo hold. Han is almost tempted to shout a warning after them, something about taking care to not tear up his ship, but decides against it with a weary sigh. It’s probably a moot point after all these years; the Falcon’s taken so much damage, a few more lightsaber scars aren’t going to do her any harm. She’s a forgiving ship, and they aren’t the first Force-wielders to train in her belly. It’s not like there’s much damage they can do to anything in the cargo hold, anyways.

Hux is still seated in the cockpit when Han arrives, spare blaster in hand. The ginger Alpha is pouring over a datapad displaying Starkiller’s schematics, most likely attempting to devise a strategy to get the team in and out with the most efficiency. Planning seems to be a gift of Hux’s. Han is almost tempted to tell him not to bother—that when it comes to the Solo clan, Tattooine is more likely to freeze over than anything actually going according to plan—but gets the feeling that his sentiments would not be well met. Instead he dumps a blaster in the man’s lap, enjoying Hux’s startled yelp, and dropped into the pilot’s seat. There’s time yet before they reach the base, but they’re making a landing approach at lightspeed and the margin for error is so slim. It’s best not to take any chances. So Han settles into his chair, staring out into the winking lights of hyperspace and prepares himself for what is to come in the extraction of his once-again-wayward mate.

\--

“Again,” Ben growls, launching himself at Finn in another impressive maneuver.

Having been deemed familiar enough with her own weapon to rest, Rey sits with her back to the cold durasteel of the wall and watches the duo clash in the center of the hold, lightsabers hissing and spitting when they come into contact with one another. Around them, the Falcon’s hyperdrive thrums with a familiar, soothing rhythm. Finn is better than she expected, but then again she hadn’t expected him to be a formally trained duelist when she met him. He’s graceful and swift, relying on his stature and maneuverability like her. Ben, on the other hand, has a preference for brute force.

He’s done something to his hair, she realizes as she watches them. He’s pulled it up out of his face for their workout, but that’s nothing unusual. She’s seen that before. What she hadn’t noticed is the single braid he’s woven at the base of his skull, inlaid with a handful of colorful beads. She’d seen a box of similar beads in the crate Han had stored the old Jedi things in, but she hadn’t even seen Ben take them. Finn dodges one of Ben’s powerful swings with an impressive Force-assisted roll, and Rey resolves to ask after the braid when they’re done. The Force around them seems to hum with contentment, despite the underlying current of anticipation.

Finishing their match, the pair drop to the floor on either side of her, sweaty and panting. She calls a canteen from across the room with the Force, sending Ben into a fit of giggles—something about misuse of the Force. Luke had mentioned it once or twice, apparently his old master Yoda had hounded him about only using the Force when necessary, but she doesn’t think the lesson ever stuck with him. During the time they spent together, her father relied on the Force like his own limbs, his use of it as natural as breathing. She marks it down as another difference between what she’s been taught and the additional training Ben received at the hands of the Sith.

“What’s with the braid?” Finn asks, leaning over Rey to give the offending lock of hair a sharp tug and beating her to the question.

Ben flushes at the question, swatting the Omega’s hand away. “It’s a padawan braid,” The Alpha huffs. “In the Jedi Order, they signify your status as a student. The beads symbolize achievements you’ve made in your studies.”

“But you’re not really a padawan, are you?” Rey questions. “You’re better at all of this Force stuff than the rest of us.”

“I may not be a Sith learner anymore,” Ben says thoughtfully, “but I’m technically still a padawan in my Jedi studies. I wasn’t Knighted before I left.”

Rey considers that a moment. “Should Finn and I have one, then?”

Ben looks surprised. “I suppose. Finn’s hair is too short—but I could do yours? If you want me to?”

Rey glances at Finn, who smiles encouragingly, then nods to Ben. The other Alpha makes a pleased sort of noise, a not-quite purr that he’s started making now that he, Hux, and Finn have more or less settled in their new life with the Resistance. Finn finds it adorable, she knows, but she can’t help but be reminded on the predators of Jakku. They, too, would be calm when content, only to lash out violently at the first sign of a threat to their territory. His fingers weave through her hair with dexterity, tying off the braid first before returning the rest to its traditional three-bun style. He used to do her hair often as children, she remembers.

“There,” he declares, “now you look like a proper padawan.”

She shifts away, offering soft thanks, and Finn beams over her shoulder at his suiter. He’s always delighted when they go through these familial bonding episodes. She can only imagine how insufferable he’ll become when he’s actually mated—a _bonded_ member of their clan.

Footsteps on the durasteel floor draw their attention to the doorway, where Hux appears. There’s a blaster hanging from his hip, now, and a look of fierce determination settled over his features.

“Han has instructed me to tell you that we’ll be making our landing approach shortly. It would be best if you all found somewhere to strap in. I suspect it’s going to be a rough landing.”

They follow him from the cargo hold, Hux and Ben disappearing into the cockpit while Finn and Rey strap themselves down in the crew’s quarters. The engines rumble as they drop back into real space, and Rey finds one of her hands in Finn’s while the other clutches at the armrest of her seat. Yeah, this is definitely going to be a bumpy ride.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What if I just Finn/Hux/Ben+Poe as a romantic-only partner OT4.
> 
> What if I just did that.


	34. Intermission: Ancient History Part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> History of the Skywalker Clan

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, ya'll!  
> First of all, thank you for all your opinions on the question I posed last chapter. I'm still considering ideas on how to move forward, but it was super helpful to know where everybody stands on the idea of the OT4. I would never change the ship dynamic so drastically without getting your opinions first.
> 
> Secondly, yes, more intermission chapters. I am super swamped with school stuff right now, and have only gotten so far as a truly hideous first draft of the next few plot-progressing chapters. These, however, only needed a bit of polishing. I've had them written out and intended to publish them as their own work, expanding the universe of this AU, but I don't want to leave you to radio silence again. So this will be a three-part intermission exploring the Prequel trio while I clean those plot chapters up.
> 
> New ship for these intermission chapters is ObiAniDala.  
> There is no such thing as too many OT3's, pals.

Obi-Wan Kenobi’s presentation as an Alpha was always seen as something of a joke to his fellow Jedi. _Not Obi-Wan_ , they’d whisper stage-quiet, eyeing him as he passed at Qui-Gon’s side. _He can’t be._ Not Obi-Wan, who lived and breathed by the Code with an intensity other Jedi could only imagine; not Obi-Wan, who stood aside and watched his crechemates tussle with little interest of his own in participating; not Obi-Wan, who followed obediently at his Master’s heels. A Beta, they think, or a particularly forward Omega. Obi-Wan doesn’t have the _gall_ to be an Alpha. They don’t see it.

They don’t see Qui-Gon Jinn die on Naboo, don’t feel the way the Force sings around him as emotions long-caged free themselves from their restraints, don’t watch the ferocious brutality with which he cuts down the Sith who murdered his Master.

He returns from Naboo with the blood of a Sith on his hands, and the Council cedes to his request to honor his Master’s final wishes. They grant him Anakin Skywalker. A Master too young with a Padawan too old—an odd pair, to be sure, but the boy needs to be taught and they think that if anyone can teach this Chosen One the ways of the Jedi, it would be Perfect Padawan Kenobi. They still don’t see the Alpha in him; they don’t once think that perhaps the Knight clings so fervently to their Code because it would be so easy to forsake it.

The jokes stop the first time he brawls over Anakin.

He’s twenty-five, they’ve been together only a handful of weeks, and the boy is late for meditation. Straight here, Obi-Wan knows he told his padawan. Straight here when lessons are done. Anakin is always punctual—eagerness to learn and a desire to prove himself worthy driving the child in equal measure. The training bond between them is still a delicate, fragile thing. It will grow stronger as the boy grows, as they grow together, but for now it’s still new and in need of protecting.

Pain and sorrow and humiliation wash over him—the emotions alien in his mind. Anakin is still unused to shielding, and his feelings filter through the bond like light through thin curtains. Obi-Wan trusts unsteady feet to the Force as he stumbles from the meditation chamber, following an unseen path to the source, unaware of the looks he receives from the Jedi he passes. He can feel Anakin on the other side of their bond, knows the boy is aware that he’s taken notice, can feel him struggling to mask the un-Jedi emotions. The humiliation only intensifies when the other realizes he can’t do it.

Anakin is in their shared quarters, curled almost impossibly small under the cot in his room. The blue R2 Unit they brought back from Naboo, who’s developed something of an attachment to Anakin, chirps concernedly nearby. Obi-Wan can’t fit in the space below the cot and kneels by its edge at the droid’s side instead, bending low to get a look at his wayward padawan. He can’t quite make out what’s caused this distress through the murky shadow of the small space, but he can hear the boy attempting stifle soft sobs as he becomes aware of Obi-Wan’s proximity.

“Padawan?” Obi-Wan asks, and receives no response. “Anakin?”

Still nothing. Obi-Wan huffs in agitation, Anakin’s intense emotions grating against his mental shields, before reaching into the space to catch the child by an ankle and drag him from his hiding space. Anakin makes a protesting noise, but doesn’t struggle against the hold; there really isn’t enough space for him to do more than squirm ineffectively, anyways. He does try to get away once he’s out, though, twisting away from Obi-Wan’s grip and attempting to keep his face away from his master. His distress, both in the Force and in a sharp scent that assaults Obi-Wan’s nose, escalates with every passing second as he struggles to escape.

“Enough!” Obi-Wan finally snaps, the whip-crack of his tone stilling the boy long enough for the Alpha to situate himself cross-legged on the floor and pull the now-unresisting padawan into his lap. “What has gotten into you?”

Anakin keeps his face downcast, distress overcome by shame in their bond, until Obi-Wan takes the boy by the chin and drags his resisting face into the light.

He does not like what he finds.

There are bruises just beginning to bloom on his cheekbones, a split lip, his nose still slowly oozing blood. Anakin’s knuckles, he notes when he looks down at the vice-grip the boy now has on his tunic, are red and raw. He’d not gone down without a fight, but was clearly on the losing side of whatever altercation he’d been involved in. He’s trembling in Obi-Wan’s grip, eyes puffy and cheeks tear-streaked.

“Anakin, what happened?”

“Nothing,” the child says stubbornly, staring intently at a point just over his Master’s shoulder.

“It’s clearly not nothing.” Obi-Wan growls, tracking a drop of fresh blood as it rolls down over the boy’s chin, falling to stain the already-ruined tunic. Those tunics are new, he can’t help but think, the grievance of having them ruined so soon only adding to his ire. The Jedi don’t have possessions, don’t cling to the material, but those robes are new and Anakin shouldn’t be _bleeding_ _all over them_.

(Anakin shouldn’t be bleeding at all, the Alpha in him whispers, treacherously fierce.)

“ _Padawan_ ,” he presses.

“I was coming back from lessons,” Anakin finally relents, “headed to meditation, and some of the other padawans stopped me. I tried to ignore them—tried to just leave, because you were waiting—but they wouldn’t let me go. They were saying things, things their Masters had told them. That I wasn’t a real padawan, and that you weren’t a real Knight. That I was just a pathetic slave and that you weren’t a real Alpha and—”

“And you hit them,” Obi-Wan finishes when Anakin falls silent.

The child tugs his head from his Master’s grip, burying it in Obi-Wan’s shoulder. He feels a brief flash of chagrin for the state of his own robes, but it’s quickly smothered by the rage coiling in his gut. Some of it must filter through the bond, because Anakin nearly flinches away from his hold, as though the boy believes Obi-Wan is angry with him. He should be—this is a teachable moment. The Jedi way would be to lecture the child on restraint and avoiding violence. He doesn’t.

Instead, Obi-Wan hold Anakin to his chest until the boy’s stopped shaking, murmuring reassurances into fluffy, shorn-short hair. When he finally calms, it’s long past dark. Obi-Wan carries his Padawan to the ‘fresher and cleans him up before tucking the boy into his cot. With as stressful as the day has been, Anakin drops off almost immediately. Obi-Wan still gives it a while, just to make sure Anakin isn’t going to wake, before he slips from their quarters and out into the temple.

Revenge isn’t the Jedi way. But this isn’t really revenge, is it? It’s a teaching moment, his irrational Alpha instincts rationalize. They’re Jedi. They should be respectful of all life, of all their brothers and sisters, no matter where they come from. Instead, however, _his_ padawan is beaten and bruised and that all-consuming Alpha rage is gnawing away at his careful control. If it was just children being children, he might have understood. Children can be cruel—but children’s taunts aren’t so pointed without outside influence. A padawan as young as those Anakin studies with wouldn’t come up with half of the insults they’d thrown at him and Obi-Wan. Clearly their Masters are talking, encouraging, and _this_ Obi-Wan can not tolerate. He’s going to _teach_ the respect that is so clearly lacked to those Knights that would whisper those words in young ears. The slights to his own name don’t even matter, in the grand scheme. He’s under no illusions as to the general opinion on him. But Anakin? Anakin is off limits. Anakin is his padawan, and it’s a Master’s job to keep their padawan safe. Even if he hadn’t been, Qui-Gon entrusted the boy to him to protect.

Obi-Wan finds the Master of the ringleader padawan, a Knight a few years older than Obi-Wan in the creche, and teaches him that lesson in respect. The Knight tells the Healers that he fell down some stairs, sticking to his story even though everyone knows that Jedi don’t just _fall_ , and the matter is never reported to the Council. Nobody wants to admit that they lost in a fist fight against _Obi-Wan Kenobi_. Especially not an older Alpha.

He returns to their quarters with his temper soothed and his own set of bloody knuckles. Anakin is still soundly asleep, safe beneath Obi-Wan’s watchful eye, and the Alpha doesn’t regret the ache in his sore muscles when he settles into his own cot. He listens to Anakin’s soft breathing until he, too, drifts off.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Should I update the relationship tags? Hm...  
> Anyways, thanks again for stopping by!
> 
> Edit 1: I just realized that I broke 50k words this chapter! Sweet baby Jesus that's a good feeling.


	35. Intermission: Ancient History Part 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some content warning for this chapter:  
> Inappropriate drug usage and Obi-Wan being an angsty little shit

Obi-Wan can feel the eyes of his troops on him as he pops a handful of pills in the mess and washes them down with what barely passable excuse for tea he can get on the front lines. He can feel their attention as it crawls over his skin; hundreds of identical eyes carefully looking everywhere but at him. By the time he gets to the command tent, one of them will have ratted to the medics. Obi-Wan will be forced to sit through another of Kix’s lecture on the dangers of overdosing on suppressants and the damage they could do to his senses if he keeps this up. They’ll lecture him and all the while never know just how much Obi-Wan _needs_ this.

Betas, the lot of them. Strong and smart and loyal to a fault, without the hindrances that come with other genders. He knows they mean well, they’re only concerned for his health, but they can’t understand. They’ll never understand how happily he surrenders his delicate senses in order to mute the Alpha instinct that lurks in the back of his mind. He doesn’t need his sense of smell or the blind rage that comes with a threat to what’s _his_. All he needs Force and its cool, calm control. He is a Jedi. He is above the influence of instinct.

It began when Anakin was eighteen. His padawan was due to present any day, and they’d been confined to quarters until he did. It was Obi-Wan’s job to watch over Anakin—to comfort and care through heat or rut or the unpleasant sickness that came with presenting as Beta. It’s tradition among human Master-Padawan pairs, after all. Of course, things could never be that simple for them.

Anakin presents late. It’s just a few days, nothing to worry about, but they’ve always been an active. Anakin learns better through application. When they’re not on a mission or sparring, Obi-Wan is hauling him across the galaxy to help him understand. Visits to ancient Jedi temples to learn their history, days spent amongst tribal peoples to learn their cultures, afternoons bartering their meager allowances in open-air markets to learn languages and negotiation skills. They’re unaccustomed to sitting around, and the spacious apartments granted to Master-Learner pairs seem to grow smaller with each passing day. Tempers flare. They’re up in each other’s faces arguing about something he forgets all about when Anakin goes into heat.

Even years later, Obi-Wan isn’t entirely sure what happened that afternoon. All he remembers is prying himself off of a _very_ fragrant, _very_ pliant Anakin and stumbling out the door with his swiftly dwindling willpower before he did something they’d both regret. He’d smashed the door control panel with hilt of his lightsaber on his way out, but whether that was to keep Anakin in or keep _Obi-Wan_ out is a matter still up for debate. Slumped boneless against the door and drawing ragged breaths untainted by Anakin’s intoxicating scent, he’s overwhelmed by a hot rush of _shame_ that would have taken his feet out from under him if he wasn’t already sitting.

There are hundreds of billions of beings in the galaxy; countless species making up an innumerable number of soft lights that glow within the Living Force. There are so many, in fact, that the chances of any one human Jedi running into their destined partner so slim that there’s never been any real precedence set for what is to happen if they do. Jedi have no need for attachments—for soulmates. But here’s Obi-Wan Kenobi, inextricably tied to his _padawan_ by some cruel twist of fates, locked out of his own quarters and listening to Anakin whine for him through the cool durasteel of the door, unable to help the very boy he’s supposed to protect through this monumental change. He should be in there. He should be making sure Anakin eats and gets enough to drink and doesn’t hurt himself like human Jedi have done for their padawans for thousands of years. He can’t even do that right.

Every step he takes away from their quarters feels like agony. His Alpha instincts scream, protesting leaving _his_ Omega alone and unguarded in such a delicate state. He should be back there with Anakin, it whispers. Obi-Wan can help him. It’s not too late, even with the control panel busted. The lightsaber in his white-knuckled grip would cut through the durasteel like flimsi. He could turn around now, cut open the door, barricade them one of their bedrooms and—

Obi-Wan forces his feet just a little faster toward the med bay. He can’t go back. He knows _exactly_ what he’ll do if he goes back, if the images his mind is conjuring are any indication, and Anakin would never forgive him. He’d never forgive himself. It’s against the Code to have attachments, to start, and Anakin would never accept being tied to another so permanently after a childhood of slavery. The boy values his freedom, and would be nothing but bitter under the restraint of a Bond. So Obi-Wan drags himself to the med bay, bearing the humiliation of having to admit that he can’t care for his padawan.

One of the healers hands him a vial of suppressants and shoves him into a meditation chamber with promises to care for the boy and fetch him when the heat passes.  

But there are no meditation chambers on the front lines.

There’s blood and sweat and blaster fire. Clones and droids. There’s close quarters and shared tents; sometimes shared cots, when the situation is dire enough. _Anakin_ clings to everything, a miasma of everything Obi-Wan shouldn’t want and can’t have. When they’re together, it drives him mad and he desires nothing more than a breath of air that doesn’t carry his former padawan’s scent. When they’re apart, he misses it like a piece of himself. The idea that Anakin is out there alone is like an itch under his skin. Obi-Wan can’t protect him when he’s so far away.

With no other option, the vial of suppressants rarely strays from his utility belt. Anakin needs all of those messy instincts to keep his own padawan safe. The Omega’s Force-enhanced senses have saved the Torgruta’s life on more than one occasion. Obi-Wan could never ask him to potentially compromise Ahsoka’s safety for the sake of his comfort. So takes the pills—too many, sometimes, to combat the adrenaline pumped into his blood during battle, because he can’t afford to be distracted by Anakin when Ventress or Grievous or Dooku could be lurking around the next corner. He takes Kix’s lectures in stride, because this is what he has to do to keep them _safe_.

The faint scars on his knuckles left by his first brawl as a Knight have long since been covered by more prominent marks, but sometimes Obi-Wan thinks he can still see them.

It turns Obi-Wan’s stomach to know that for all the battles they face, all the wounds they receive, one of the most prominent dangers to his former padawan is himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really didn't mean for it to be this angsty ho boy. Obi-Wan, pal, take it down a notch. You're ruining my characterization here.  
> I deliberated a lot about Omega!Anakin vs Alpha!Anakin and I hope it works ok later on? Do you think Alpha Ani would have been better?  
> Padme shall appear next time for our third and final installment of Ancient History.


	36. Intermission: Ancient History Finale

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After two weeks of fiddling with this i'm still not totally happy with it, but we need to be moving on. So I bring you the conclusion of the saga of Obi-Wan Kenobi's miserable fucking life.

There are days when he wants to let the desert claim him; days when he wants to wander out among the dunes and let the endless sand swallow him up. These are the worst days: when he stands on a ridge overlooking the Lars homestead, watching Luke take unsteady first steps under Beru’s careful eye; when Leia’s absence is an itch under his skin because she’s _too far too far too far away_ ; when he can feel Anakin—Vader?—Anakin throwing himself against Ben’s mental shields by way of a lingering training bond grown too strong in the years their minds scrambled to fill the gap where their mating bond _could have would have should have_ been. On these days his mind whispers treacherous thoughts of a better future if only he cede to those instincts he’s been battling since Anakin turned eighteen.

 _Surrender_ , a part of him purrs _, claim what’s yours_.

_You could have everything you wanted._

_You don’t have to be alone_.

He doesn’t listen. On those days he grits his teeth and runs katas under the sweltering Tatooine suns until the urges pass—to claim the children that are rightfully his, to find Anakin, to throw himself at his former padawan’s feet and beg forgiveness—until he’s sweaty and too exhausted to do anything more than collapse in his sad little home in the Waste, let alone cede to the pleas of desperate instinct. He can’t do those things with the fate of the galaxy at stake; he can’t do those things when there’s Anakin’s children to think of. He couldn’t protect their mother, but he can protect them.

Padme Amidala was a Beta. Padme Amidala was a choice—one Anakin made for the both of them, whether he realized it or not.

Obi-Wan didn’t love her in the early years. She was beautiful, yes, but he was young and grieving and had a padawan to care for. He respected her policy, her dedication to her causes, but he knew very little of the woman behind the politician. The war changed that, like the war changed everything. The war threw them together, their strange little trio, on the political and physical battlefield. And how could he not come to love her?

How could he not love her, when he could feel Anakin’s heart skip a beat in his own chest every time the Omega saw her? When her sharp tongue could keep up with his banter, a teasing quirk to her lips and a sparkle in her eye? When she knew full well that Obi-Wan could take her husband from her, knew that as the Alpha to Anakin’s Omega no one would begrudge him for it, but trusted the Alpha to deliver Anakin safely back into her arms at the end of each campaign?

What began as begrudging respect grew into love before Obi-Wan even realized that change had begun.

Finding out Padme was expecting was exhilarating and terrifying in equal measure. Anakin thought he’s keeping their relationship under wraps, but Padme had long since traded their secrecy for Obi-Wan’s trust—for a confidante in the never-ending battle that is loving Anakin Skywalker. She informed the Alpha not long after she told her husband (oh yes, Obi-Wan knew about that, too) and he _did_ leave Padme’s apartment at an unseemly hour. Not, however, for any of the insipid reasons that Darth Sidious would later imply to the Omega. Instead they’d spent the night discussing the repercussions the pregnancy is going to have for the three of them, since they’d always been the forward-thinkers. Who knew when Anakin was going to come off emotional high of impending fatherhood enough to worry about their future? So much would have to change, with cubs in the equation. Anakin and Padme were young and full of live and love, but they were also inexperienced. They would need a guiding hand—a solid foundation on which to build their new life.

Obi-Wan knew that Anakin had decided to leave the Order once the war ended.

Anakin didn’t know that Obi-Wan intended to follow.

There are days when the twin suns that scorch the Tatooine sand below his feet feel far too much like the molten heat of Mustafar.

Stars, they should have just _told_ him.

The galaxy didn’t fall to the Sith; the galaxy fell to secrets. Anakin’s prophetic dreams, Obi-Wan and Padme’s connection, Palpatine’s true nature. So many little secrets, piling up until the galaxy crumbled underneath their weight.

It’s already too late for Padme by the time he manages to free himself from the hold of her cruiser. He can hear them arguing, can hear Anakin shouting unfounded accusations of disloyalty, can hear Padme desperately pleading with him. Obi-Wan isn’t sure whether it hurts more that Anakin believes him capable of such a deception or that he believes it of _Padme_. Her toes barely touch the scorched duracrete of the landing pad as the Force holds her aloft, struggling weakly in its grasp. She collapses when Anakin releases her, and it’s Obi-Wan that rushes to her side, the taste of bile in his throat as he prays to anyone listening to feel a pulse against his fingertips. Anakin is shouting at him, but Obi-Wan isn’t listening. Padme’s pulse is there, much to his relief, but it’s weak. Her star-bright shine is dimming in the Force and he knows with the certainty of precognition that she _will_ die if he doesn’t end this now.

But Anakin won’t listen to him any more willingly than he listened to Padme. The Omega’s eyes are wild with whirlwind of emotions Obi-Wan knows only too well, and the Alpha can feel his heart shatter with every clash of their lightsabers. He still reasons, still pleads, still desperately tries to reach the man he knows is somewhere beneath all that rage. Neither holds back as they wind their way through bloodstained halls, dueling with a ferocity only achieved by lovers. Their future crumbles with the mining facility, consumed by Mustafar’s ravenous flames.

“You underestimate my power!” Anakin snarls, and Obi-Wan _begs_.

_Don’t do it. Don’t try it. Don’t make me do this._

Anakin doesn’t listen—Anakin _never_ listens—and the man’s agonized howls cut through Obi-Wan like a knife.

“I _loved_ you,” Obi-Wan shouts, the words ripped from his throat before he can stop them.

 _I loved you_. Perhaps the most damning secret of them all. The one he’d held so closely, guarded so fiercely, the one Anakin never would have let himself suspect: that Obi-Wan, poster boy of the Jedi, had failed its most basic tenant. Had _loved_.

It takes every ounce of his strength to walk away, and perhaps then even more, drawn from the Force. Anakin is screaming and his skin tingles with phantom pain and everything in him begs for him to turn back. But there’s nothing left of his Omega to save. There’s nothing behind him but that _thing_ Sidious made, and Padme is helpless up there on the platform. He tells himself this takes another step, over and over, until he’s laid the Beta down on a cot in the ship and he’s collapsed in the captain’s chair and they’re safely in the clutches of hyperspace.

What remained of Obi-Wan Kenobi draws its last breath with Padme Amidala, and then he is alone; a dead man alone with two cubs in his arms and the weight of the galaxy resting on his shoulders.

There are days when Ben Kenobi wants to let the desert take him, but there are other days, too. Days when he watches Luke play with the children of the neighboring farmsteads; days when Bail Organa coms in secret and updates him to Leia’s progress; days when Ahsoka Tano shows up at his door with news of rebellion and surviving Jedi. There are days when Ben Kenobi will allow himself hope for a galaxy when his children, _their_ children, can have the future they deserve. It’s a new hope that he will happily give his life to protect.


	37. Starkiller: Part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We now return to our regularly scheduled program.

The Falcon mows down a large swathe of the forest that decorates Starkiller’s landscape, Hux clinging to the arms of his seat for dear life as the old freighter rattles and shakes under the assault of the trees. Han and Chewie are bickering—something about scanners and taking the ship higher—but Hux isn’t listening to anything beyond the nearly overwhelming terror of this situation. Hux had a reputation for being unflappable during his time with the Order, but if recent events are any indication, he seems to have left that particular trait behind when he deserted.

They break from the tree line with a mighty crash, landing in the open and sending the ship careening wildly through the snow toward an unpleasant drop. They stop just short of the cliff face, though Hux doesn’t know it until he manages to pry his eyes back open. It takes a substantial amount of effort to unclamp his hands from the armrests; there are imprints of his nails in the leather. He’s the first one out of the cockpit, the first one down the ramp, and promptly stumbles to a halt and loses the contents of his stomach.

“Another happy landing!” Hux hears Ben declare as his bondmate follows him down the ramp, snickering at Hux’s expense.

He purposefully ignores the other Alpha, stuffing a handful of snow into his mouth in hopes of washing the sour taste from his tongue. Warm hands run soothingly over his back, too small to be Ben’s, and he catches Finn’s eye when he looks over his shoulder to identify who they belong to. He must still be green, because the Omega’s wearing a worried expression that Hux decides he doesn’t like. When his uneasy stomach finally settles enough to attribute to nerves and not lingering effects from their crash landing, he straightens up and turns to look at the rest of the group.

They’ve all disembarked, standing in a loose circle near the foot of the ramp, chatting quietly while they wait. They’re all bundled up against the harsh winter climate of the planet, making them look quite fluffy and less like the elite squad they’re supposed to be. This mission is time-sensitive, but their questionably stealthy landing has given them something of a buffer to work with. They’ll have to move fast once they’re detected, but for now they can take the time to work out a strategy. Hux is very good at strategy.

“What’s the plan, General?” Han asks when he returns to the group, Finn following diligently.

Rifling through the pocket of the heavy coat he’s borrowed from Han, slightly too large thanks to the height of its owner, Hux pulls out the datapad he’d been studying earlier and thumbs it on. A map of the planet blinks to life on the screen, and the group huddles around him as he zooms in on their location.

“There are maintenance tunnels here,” he explains, pointing to their location on the map. “Just a few klicks off. They’re usually unguarded, and should lead us right into the lower levels of the base. From there, Han, Chewie, and I will locate a terminal where I can access the planet’s defenses and lower the shields. Meanwhile, Ben, Finn, and Rey will head down to the interrogation levels to locate Skywalker. I assume you remember the way?”

It’s a foolish question; interrogation was Finn’s sector during his sanitation years and Ben spent quite a bit of time down there, but their sharp nods of affirmation have the intended effect of reassuring the rest of the group.

“Good. Let’s get moving. It’s freezing out here.”

\--

Luke ducks into the shadows of an alcove as another squad of Stormtroopers pass by, completely unaware of their proximity to the man they’re hunting. His presence is pulled tight around him, masked to all but the most sensitive of Force-wielders. Luke doesn’t dare try to reach out and touch the Force now that he’s loose with so many Knights on the base. They’d detect his presence in a heartbeat, as powerful as he is. Luke’s absence from the interrogation room was noticed quickly, and he feels a brief pang of guilt at the thought of whatever punishment the Knight tasked with watching him now faced. He brushes it away quickly, focusing again on the task at hand.

Get to the hanger, steal a ship, get out of here.

The increased patrols since the discovery of his escape are inconvenient, but not nearly enough to hamper his escape yet. It helps that the ‘troopers talk loudly to compensate for the muffling effects of their masks, often complaining about the routes of their patrol compared to others. It’s almost as good as a map of the compound. Combined with years of experience in the art of escape, Luke flits through the halls like a ghost, avoiding detection with almost supernatural skill even without the aid of the Force.

According to his latest overheard conversation, there should be a hanger just around the next bend. Freedom is at his fingertips now, but the plan comes to a screeching halt when he rounds the corner—as Skywalker Clan plans are prone to do. It’s only reflex that has him ducking behind a stack of supply crates, only just swift enough to avoid detection from the truly astonishing number of Stormtroopers crowding the bay. The Knights, it seems, have given up on tracking him down and have instead decided to wait for him to come to them, diverting remaining personnel to the hangers in hopes of springing a trap and catching him unawares. The Force would have warned him, if he’d made himself available to it, ad Luke curses the strength of his power in a way he hasn’t since the years he spent with the Rebellion, running from Darth Vader’s dogged pursuit.

There’s nothing to be cone about that, however. Huttese curses slip past Luke’s lips, old familiar syllables he’s carried since his youth, and slips back into the hall before any of the ‘troopers can catch sight of him. He needs a new plan—but what? He still has no real sense as to the layout of the base and no idea where to go. There’s got to be something; somewhere to hide while he figures out his next move. A disused storage closet? An empty hall? Luke passes the entrance to what is obviously a trash compacter and almost laughs. No, anywhere _but_ there.

He rounds another corner and—

\--

Leia Organa-Solo stands in the commands center on D’Qar, watching technicians shuffle about the room. There’s nothing for them to do—not now, with their pilots still in hyperspace and the Falcon crew radio-silent, but they’re trying to stay busy anyways. Leia can’t say she blames them; her own impatience is a physical itch beneath her skin. She hates all this standing around, and the undercurrent of anxiety that crackles around the room isn’t helping matters.

If she could, she’d have gone with them. Her mate and her brother and their children. Her pilots and Ben’s beloveds. They’re out there facing dangers untold and she’s stuck planetside once again. It reminds her too much of the Death Star, of helplessness. The base is too quiet, too empty, with so much of her family missing.


	38. Starkiller: Part 2

Phasma prowls the halls of Starkiller, scattering troops as she weaves her way down to the belly of the base. A handful of officers follow at her heels, confused as to the urgency with which she’d summoned them from their post, but knowing better than to ask. These are officers she’s vetted personally: the ones whose loyalties lay with her, the ones who question the Order’s doctrine, the ones who whisper fond remarks about Hux when they think she isn’t listening. There’s more than she originally expected when she began spending her evening sorting through classified personnel files in the secrecy of her quarters. Perhaps she should have expected it, though. The old Empire had so much infighting that it couldn’t even hold itself together against a group of rebels; the First Order has changed very little of the Empire’s power structure since they adopted it.

It doesn’t take a genius to predict Hux’s plans. There are a limited number of ways into the Starkiller facility, much less undetected. Yes, Hux has a flair for the dramatic—the planet itself is evidence to this—but she’s also aware that, when push comes to shove, the Alpha isn’t afraid to get down and roll in the dirt if the situation depends on it. Or in this case, the maintenance shafts. During her early days as Captain, when she was still asserting her place among her Alpha comrades, Hux would spar with her. The Alpha can be a filthy fighter when he needs to be, but Phasma had almost always managed to pin him anyways. Perhaps that is why Phasma alone is making her way to the planet’s infrastructure instead of running her troops ragged with the search for Skywalker like the Knights of Ren are.

It was barely more than a blip on the radar; the technicians had classified it as a malfunction of the equipment. One heartbeat when a ship appeared on their scanners, and in the next it had been gone. It _could_ be a malfunction, but Phasma’s been on edge waiting for the Resistance to make their move since she leaked the Starkiller intel, and she’s always been practical. Better safe than sorry. There’s a platoon of her own personal forces on standby, ready to make a mad dash for the hangers on her command, and her officers trail dutifully behind. She’s getting off this rock with the Resistance, and she’s taking her men with her.

There are three deceased troopers shoved into an alcove in the wall down the next corridor, their armor singed by blaster fire. Shoddy work for anyone attempting to cover their tracks but Phasma can respect that Hux’s infiltration plan likely plays more toward speed than stealth. A few of the officers make alarmed noises, but don’t make any move to alert someone. She is in charge, and if someone needed to know, they trust her to inform them.

“Damned machine!” carries down the hall, and she can’t help the amused quirk to her lips as she watches Mitaka perk up over her shoulder like a dog hearing its beloved master after a long separation.

Mitaka is, according to his file, loyal to Hux to the point of complete disregard for his own life. The Beta has spent an inordinate amount of time in the med bay, having regularly put himself between an enraged Kylo Ren and whatever unfortunate victim he’d been after with complete faith that Hux would rescue him before any lasting damage could be done. It is fortunate for Mitaka that he’s damn good at what he does, or else Hux may not have been bothered to save his skin time and time again. Phasma is relatively certain that most of the other officers believe Mitaka to be out of his mind.

“I thought you said you knew the codes!” an unfamiliar voice snaps, followed by a bleating cry she identifies to be shyriiwook. She can’t speak the language herself, but is at least familiar with what it sounds like.

“I do! They’re not working!”

The group is still bickering when she props herself against the frame of the blast door, none of their party having noticed her approach. A sharp hand gesture informs her own to hang back—all but Mitaka, who she didn’t expect to listen to a word she says now that he’s within earshot Hux. The Beta officer hovers at her side, and they take in the scene.

The party is in one of the smaller control rooms that dot the base, Hux seated before the large terminal and flanked on either side by his companions. Phasma has seen enough mugshots to recognize them as smuggler-turned-general Han Solo and his Wookie companion, Chewbacca. She’s familiar enough with the interface on the screen to know that Hux is attempting to access the planet’s shield generators. The screen reads _access denied_ in large, blocky letters.

“I changed the access codes when I was promoted. I’m not stupid,” Phasma says over the sound of their bickering, three heads snapping toward the unexpected visitor nearly simultaneously.

Han Solo makes a grab for his blaster, and she watches Hux’s sharp eyes take in the situation, darting from her to Mitaka and back, for less than a heartbeat before the Alpha lunges to knock the man’s weapon askew. The redirected bolt makes contact with the wall only mere inches from her face in a shower of sparks. She doesn’t flinch; perhaps Mitaka isn’t the only one with too much faith in Brendol Hux.

“What in the blazes are you doing?” Solo snarls, attempting to wrench his weapon from the younger Alpha’s grip. “Are you crazy?”

The question of the day, it seems.

“Please! If she was here to detain us she would have done it already!”

A valid point. Phasma commends Hux for his faith in her abilities.

Solo, reluctantly, lowers his weapon when Hux finally releases it. He’s still eyeing her suspiciously, but she can’t say she blames him. She is General of the First Order, after all. At her side, Mitaka is practically vibrating with excitement.

“Phasma. Mitaka,” the Alpha acknowledges with polite nods to both.

“General Hux, sir!” Mitaka responds with a flawless salute to the once-superior officer.

Hux looks almost offended. “Just Hux will do, Mitaka. I’m not general of anything, at the moment.” His attention returns to Phasma. “I suppose I should thank you for the warning about the New Republic.”

“Took you long enough to get here. I was beginning to worry I’d actually have to blow up a star system.”

Han’s eyebrows raise when he finally puts two and two together. “You’re—”

“Han, this is General Phasma. Phasma, I’m assuming you’re already familiar with my father in law.”

A sharp nod, and Phasma moved from her place at the door, pushing past them to begun pressing at the keypad on the terminal. From the corner of her eye, she can see Hux leaning out the door. He makes a surprised noise, apparently thrown by the sheer number of officers milling about outside.

“Where’s Finn and Ren?” She asks, drawing away from the terminal when the graphic on the screen displays a short message of _Shields Deactivated_.

“Searching for Skywalker.”

“He escaped earlier. The Knights have been at it for hours. Let’s hope they have better luck.”

Solo leads the way out of the room, the rest of the trio trailing behind. The collection of officers part as they pass, falling into step behind Phasma and Hux. Chewie drops back to bring up the rear, corralling any stragglers. Already the base is beginning to shake with the force of the Resistance bombing, and they pick up the pace to a jog as they wind their way through the halls back toward the maintenance shaft they entered from. Phasma signals her troops, worrying for just a moment about the Resistance potentially shooting down the transports. Fortunately, Hux takes a com from Solo and switches it on, relaying an order to allow troop transports passage to the pilots soaring above.

They tumble out into the open air beyond the maintenance shaft, then there’s nothing left to do but wait until the rest of their party arrives.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Phasmom to the rescue once more


	39. Starkiller: Part 3

Ben had once imagined what it would be like to have Finn fighting by his side, his devastating strength and leonine grace at work as they cut down their enemies one by one. In those nights before Finn’s escape with Dameron, he and Hux would stay awake late into the night talking about it, either curled up in one of their offices or in their quarters. Even when he was missing they’d done it—planned for their ideal future, where they’d rule the galaxy together

It’s not the future that’s come to pass, but Ban can’t say he minds.

Together they race through the halls of S _tarkiller_ , he and Finn in the lead, Rey covering their six, the Force flowing around them like nothing Ben has experienced before. It feels good. It feels right—more so than the Dark ever had. This, Ben thinks, this is where he belongs. His sister and his mate at his side, like the twin suns of Tattooine in the Force, Snoke’s horrible, inky-black presence nowhere to be found. It’s not ruling the galaxy, but Hux and his father and Uncle Chewie are waiting for them. His mother is waiting back on D’Qar. Once they have Luke, once they stop the Order from using this weapon, they’ll go back to the base that could one day be home and be a real family again, for the first time in so many years. That, he thinks, is better than any reign.

Something’s pulling at the edges of his mind, the Force trying to catch his attention. It pulls his eyes down a corridor as they pass it, just one of many identical halls, and his body slams to a halt without his permission.

There in the hall, with their back to the trio, is a Knight. It’s not the Knight that’s caught Ben’s attention, however, but what’s hanging at their hip: Luke Skywalker’s lightsaber. He’d recognize that weapon anywhere, having spent so many years staring as it hung from Luke’s belt; as it swung through the air in demonstration; as it clashed with his own ragged, crimson blade on that stormy night so many years ago. Now it hangs from the belt of this Knight, who is not worthy to even lay hands on Luke’s weapon. Ben can’t isolate which Knight this is without a look at their mask; their signatures in the Force are so weak, and they haven’t even noticed the party yet, despite barely more than twenty feet separating them. How did he ever expect to conquer the galaxy with these children? His teeth grind together as he stomps down the hallway toward the masked figure.

It’s not a fight. The Knight has barely has time to turn, barely noticed him, before Ben is sinking the royal purple of his old-and-new lightsaber into their chest. The Knight’s obvious inexperience leads Ben to believe that they’re one of the newer recruits, and feels a brief pang of sorrow at having extinguishing such a young life. Many of the Knights have simply been misguided, as he was, by the seductive promises of the Dark.

Ben doesn’t let himself dwell, however, and tugs Luke’s weapon free from the Knight’s belt. Rey and Finn have come up behind him, and he passes the weapon to his sister, who hooks it to her own belt.

There’s a tugging at Ben’s mind again, but this time it isn’t the Force. It’s just as familiar, however. Perhaps even more so, as he’s still fumbling somewhat clumsily with the power of the Light. Hux.

 _Skywalker loose. Shields down. Find him quickly_.

He almost sighs with relief, the new that Luke is well enough to escape a welcome update. This leads to a whole new set of problems, however. He can’t feel Luke in the in the Force, which means the Omega must be masking his signature. Starkiller Base spans the entire planet; endless klicks of tunnels wind beneath the planet’s surface. How in the blazes are they supposed to find him in this maze?

“Let me try,” Rey demands when he explains what’s happened, her eyes sharp with determination.

Ben and Finn share a look, and nod in agreement. For a moment, all is still; all but the Force, which answers to Rey’s call like a beloved pet to its master. She is the newest among them to its power, but she does not doubt its strength even for a moment. Rey has faith that the Light will never lead her astray; it will always answer, if she only asks.

“This way.”

The other Alpha skirts the body of the fallen Knight before taking off in a jog, leading them further down the hall. Finn falls in behind her, and Ben behind him. Ben’s instincts don’t like having Rey in the lead, don’t like her being so vulnerable, but he reminds himself that she’s not the same little girl he left behind all those years ago. His sister has grown into a powerful Alpha. She can take care of herself.

They round a final corner and nearly crash headlong into Luke Skywalker.

There is a brief moment when all parties freeze, eyes wide and owlish as they take in the sight before them, equally startled at what they’ve managed to find. Rey breaks the trance first, Luke only barely managing to catch her when she launches herself across the space between them and into his arms with a relieved shout of, “Father!”

“Rey?” Luke gapes, the Omega’s eyes darting between his daughter and Ben and Finn. “How did you—?”

Ben suddenly feels very self-conscious, finding himself deactivating his ‘saber shifting on his feet under the weight of Luke’s stare. They hadn’t exactly had time to talk during their brief encounter on Yavin, and there’s an ugly history between them. He can’t even begin to guess what Luke is thinking, and can’t bring himself to look up from the floor for whatever hints the Omega’s expression may give.

A warm hand splays supportively against his lower back—Finn’s—and he vaguely hears introductions, “You must be Finn,” over the sound of his own heartbeat pounding in his ears. He doesn’t even hear Luke calling his name, trying to catch his attention, until Finn’s hand is slipping away and he’s suddenly engulfed by deceptively strong arms. Luke’s scent is a familiar comfort, bringing with it old memories of security and peace.

“I’m so glad you’re ok,” Ben hears Luke say, and all at once he can feel salty, hot tears stinging his eyes. Stars, how could he have ever given up this?

Around them, _Starkiller_ shudders with the force of the X-Wing assault, and Luke finally releases him.

“Let’s get out of here,” Finn says, and Rey wordlessly passes her father his weapon.

Together they take off back down the hall, and Ben feels the Light as it sings around them. There’s still things between them that need to be discussed, a history to be aired out and trust to be rebuilt, but for now, all is well.


	40. Starkiller: Part 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy shit dudes this chapter is late and terrible. I am late and terrible. Somebody punch me in the face please.

For one, breif moment, all is almost well in the world of Han Solo. For the first time in nearly twenty years, he feels like he can breathe without that terrible, aching black hole where he heart used to be swallowing up his every breath, every thought, every feeling. Luke is in his arms and Rey is pressed into his side and Ben is nearby, in the embrace of his own mates. Han is even ok with the First Order officers milling around, chatting quietly amongst themselves while Phasma frets over them like an enormous, sharply dressed mother hen.

A few of the officers are even trying to talk to Chewie, and even though Han can only understand one word out of every four of their fumbling attempts at shyriiwook, the sentiment is endearing. Chewie is certainly smitten, patting one of the officers on the head with a massive paw and saying something about _precious younglings._ Another officer must understand, because he flushes a brilliant shade of pink. Han thinks that he’s beginning to understand why Phasma went out of her way to secure these officers’ safety; they aren’t bad people, just misguided. There’s good kids under all that conditioning and propaganda, just like Finn.

The only thing that would make this perfect would be having Leia there with them to share the moment.

Which is, of course, when everything goes to blazes.

The peace is shattered when an x-wing plummets from the sky with a loud screech, hitting the ground at the tree line and erupting into an enormous pillar of flame. All eyes are drawn to the sky, where the battle still rages on. X-Wings are weaving in and out of the oncoming fire of the Order’s TIE Fighters, but they’re losing pilots at an alarming rate. Troop transports are doing their best to stay out of range, but some of the TIE seem to have noticed their escape and have taken pursuit. A small group of X-Wings are trying to cover them, but they’re vastly outnumbered against Starkiller’s fleet. There is no backup here, not without the New Republic’s fleet, which is on the other side of the galaxy and too busy trying to evacuate citizens to be able to spare fighters.

“They’re in trouble up there,” Luke says, wearing the same frustrated expression Leia had when she knew she’d have to stay behind on this mission. The Rebel Commander, the pilot, in Luke is desperate to be up there with his people. He hates the feeling of helplessness that comes with watching ships fall, but he’s stuck on the ground. Sometimes it’s easy for Han to forget that his mates are twins; sometimes it’s very, _very_ difficult.

Han looks over at Chewie, at the pack slung over the Wookie’s shoulders, and says, “My friend has a bag full of explosives. What say we use them?”

A quick strategy meeting later, and they have a plan. Granted, it’s not a _great_ plan, but when has their Clan ever been known for conventional tactics? And for one made on the fly, with the sky quite literally falling, it’s pretty damn impressive. Chewie and Phasma take the officers back to the Falcon to get the newbies settled and prepare for a quick takeoff once the job is done. Hux goes with them, but not without a fair amount of grumbling about being separated from his mates once again. Phasma hisses something in his ear that makes him scowl at her, but marches along after the retreating group when they go, the Officer who they called Mitaka tagging at his heels. The rest of them head for the oscillator.

Rey and Finn break away from the group when they near the structure, going in search of a control panel with which to open the blast doors and let their companions inside. Ben has a few choice words on the idea of splitting up, but a follows after Han and Luke in the end. Han doesn’t like it much either, but they don’t have time to do anything but stick to the plan. He knows those two are fully capable of taking care of themselves.

“The girl really knows her stuff,” He comments when it’s not just the first blast door that opens, but all of the blast doors standing between the team and the heart of the oscillator.

“Come on,” Ben growls, striding off down the hall. “Let’s get this done.”

Han adds _deals poorly with separation_ to the list of things he’s learned about his son since his arrival at the Resistance. The list includes, among other things, _hopeless romantic_ , _poor conversationalist_ , and _still fights about eating vegetables_. The first two were to be expected, considering his heritage and the way he’d spent the last decade of his life. Han had been an over-the-top courtier when wooing his own mates, and the First Order likely wasn’t conducive to developing good people skills. Han had figured Ben would have grown out of the vegetables thing by now, though.

Apparently not, as he’s has witnessed several heated arguments between the Ben and Hux over the Alpha leaving whatever vegetable the mess served with their meal untouched. Finn could usually be counted on to shovel down whatever Ben wouldn’t eat as soon as Hux’s back was turned, if only to spare himself hearing Ben whine like a youngling over _not liking vegetables_ another minute longer.

But there’s no time to dwell on that now. They have bombs to detonate.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am struggling to get back into the rhythm of this fic, to be perfectly honest with ya'll. I'm going to do my best not to disappear again, though. Thanks for sticking with me. It means a lot.


	41. Intemission: In the Air

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Property damage, pilots, and poorly timed relationship advice

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another short update because I am having a Week From Hell. I don't know what I did to rack up this much bad karma, but apparently the universe is cashing it all in at once.

The chill in the air bites at Rey’s skin through the heavy fabric of her winter clothes. Her pants are soaked through, there are puddles forming in her boots, and her teeth chattering together with the force of her shivering. Were she paying attention to any of those things, she might find herself missing the heat of Jakku—something she claimed she would never do. She isn’t, though. Instead, her eyes are focused on the smoldering hole that’s just been ripped in the side of the central oscillator. Ben, Luke, and Han are stumbling their way toward a waiting Finn and Rey, sooty and slightly singed, but otherwise no worse for wear. They’re wearing victorious smiles that she can feel mirrored on her own face, and Finn is giggling with a childish delight, one arm slung around her shoulders. It seems their plan has succeeded.

Rey absently wonders if celebrating property damage and arson is a normal family bonding activity, and decides she doesn’t particularly care. The Skywalker Clan may be a bit strange, but she doesn’t think she’d trade them for all the ration packs in the galaxy.

Ben throws an arm around her other shoulder when the group reaches them, and Rey’s nose wrinkles at the scent of burnt hair that clings to him, overpowering his Alpha musk. He’s going to need a haircut when they get back to base, she thinks, as most of his ponytail has been singed away by the blast. He’s going to whine for weeks about it later, when he’s not high on success and finally realizes that his mane (Hux’s words, not hers) has taken casualties.

The group turns their attention to the skies, watching the X-Wings as they weave their way through enemy fire, bringing down the last remaining TIE and making their way back to their target, now weakened and prime for attack. Phasma’s troop transports have cleared atmo and are likely making their jumps to hyperspace by now, allowing the fleet to turn their full attention back on the oscillator.

“We’ve done all we can for them, now,” Han announces. “It’s up to our boys in the sky to finish the job.”

“They can do it,” Finn declares, and his tone brokers no argument.

Luke nods his agreement with Finn’s statement before turning in the direction of the waiting Falcon. “They’re good kids; they’ll get the job done. And we need to be ready to go when they do. Come on.”

The eldest Omega leads the way back to the tree line, his family following behind. Above, Black-1 cuts the air like a bird of prey, bringing down TIE after TIE until she plunges into the gaping hole wrought into the side of the oscillator by the Clan’s explosives.

__

Poe Dameron has always loved flying. The power and freedom he feels in the cockpit of a ship is what he lives for. His blood sings in his veins as dodges and weaves his way through the incoming TIE Fighters, the rest of his fleet following close behind. He can hear them over the com system, relaying positions and statuses and casualties. It makes Poe feel like he’s a part of something greater—just one part of a cohesive whole. Poe Dameron does not have the Force, but he imagines that it feels something like this.

“Hey Dameron,” Pava calls, and from the corner of his eye Poe watches as she plummets toward the surface, two TIE on her tail. She pulls up at the last second, flying even with the ground bore rocketing back into the air. The TIE Fighters fall victim to her X-Wing’s superior maneuverability, impacting and erupting into pillars of flame when they’re unable to level out in time. “You think, if we survive this, Rey would go out with me?”

It’s an unexpected enough topic that it actually manages to startle a laugh out of the Beta. “Are you serious, Pava? Is now _really_ the time to be asking for relationship advice?”

“Hey,” she squawks, “a girl’s gotta have something to look forward to. And what’s better than Rey? She’s a pilot, she’s hot, and stars, have you _smelled_ her?”

“You know I haven’t, Jess,” Poe says with an exasperated sigh, taking down a TIE before it can land a hit on Snap’s ship.

“Oh come on, don’t be like that. Out with it, Dameron. Do I have a chance with the girl or not? I’d ask Finn, but from what I’ve heard you’ve ruined anyone’s chances of getting within arm’s reach of him without getting said limb ripped off by Hux, and I’m not keen on asking Kylo Ren how to best bed his sister.”

“His name’s Ben Solo, not Kylo Ren,” Poe corrects. “And I don’t have an answer for you, Pava. Rey’s still a little secretive about all that stuff. I’ve got your back if you want to go for it, though. I’ll even sign off on a night in with ice cream and trashy romance holos if she turns you down.”

BeeBeeAte makes a shrill noise of agreement from their place in the astromech slot, and that’s that. If BeeBee blesses Pava’s romantic advances on one of their favorite people, then there’s no-one that can say otherwise. The other pilots on the com channel snicker, but Poe knows that most of them will be there watching holos and crying right along with Jess if Rey does reject her. The Omega is everybody’s favorite, which she ruthlessly uses to her advantage. There is a reason she’s banned from the sabacc table when there’s credits on the line.

“I’m going to hold you to that, Black Leader.”

“Great. Now can we focus on the dogfight, please?”

The conversation wraps up not a moment too soon, as one side of the oscillator is suddenly engulfed in flame. When it tapers down enough for the pilots to get a good look at what’s happened, it is revealed that there’s now a gaping hole in the side of the building.

“Hey Black Leader, looks like your boyfriends just blasted you a new hole in that oscillator,” Snap chirps over the line.

“You just bought yourself cleaning duty for a month, Wexley,” Poe barks back, feeling vindicated when he receives an answering string of expletives from the other pilot. “Now cover me, I’m going in.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I will see you all again when I am finally free from the grip of spiritual retribution.


	42. Starkiller: Conclusion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shit fuck shit. I haven't updated this fic in eons, and today was a race against the clock to churn a chapter out because guess what! This fic is a year old today! Happy birthday fic!

They trudge through the snow as fast as they dare, careful of the way the earth shakes. Already Ben has stumbled from the force of Starkiller tearing itself apart beneath their feet. Though there is a sense of elation at knowing their plan had worked—at hearing the massive explosion of the oscillator and watching it plume over the tops of the trees—there is a part of him distantly aware that they need to get off this rock as quickly as they possibly can. It’s only a matter of time before the planet’s crust can no longer contain the storm brewing within.

Ideally, the Falcon would be warmed up and ready for takeoff as soon as they get up the ramp. However, Han hasn’t been able to raise anyone on the com, and the part of Ben’s mind where Hux’s presence resides is eerily silent. Nobody likes the quiet, but there’s only so much they can pick up the pace in these conditions.

“Dammit…” Han snarls in frustration, stuffing the silent com unit back into the pocket of his heavy coat. “I’ve got a bad feeling about this.”

The rest of the walk is taken in silence, no one having the words to break the uncomfortable tension that’s fallen over the group. There is nothing they can say, nothing they can do, to make the situation any better; all they can do is hope that when they finally reach the Falcon and discover what is holding up the rest of their family, they’ll be able to handle it and get off this rock in one piece.

Stumbling through tree line and into the clearing carved by the Falcon’s crash, Ben hears Luke sigh at the sight before them. “You just had to say it…”

Within the clearing is the Falcon, its ramp down in invitation. Sitting halfway between the Falcon and the tree line are Hux, Phasma, and Chewie. All three appear to be cuffed, but Hux is slumped in unconsciousness against Chewie’s bulk, the Wookie with a protective arm thrown around the Alpha. There is a distinctive bruise blooming on the pale skin of his temple, and Ben hears himself growl at the thought of someone injuring his bondmate. It’s no more than a hundred yards from the tree line to the safety of the Falcon’s belly, they could easily grab the other three on their way, but something stops the group at the edge of the trees. A heavy, oppressive darkness hangs in the air, presses at their mental shields. Even Han, Force-Null as he is, shuffles uncomfortably in the tense atmosphere as they wait for its source to show itself.

No one is surprised when what remains of the Knights of Ren slink from the underbrush on the other side of the clearing, weapons in hand, aware that their attempt at an ambush has failed. They were going to have to deal with them eventually; Snoke’s pet Force users weren’t going to just let them go. In fact, this little trap they’ve set is quite ingenious—especially using the other three as bait. If not for their quarry’s Force-sensitivity, they could have easily fallen victim to it.

It is unfortunate for the Knights that they are who they are. The Skywalker Clan is not known for letting anything get in their way, and certainly not when there is so much on the line. While the Knights may have had the upper hand should their ambush have worked, they’ve lost that precious advantage. The Clan was bested in the marketplace on Yavin, but they will not be here. Not when they’re all armed and prepared to do whatever it takes to come to their family’s aid and get everyone off this rock in one piece.

“Kylo Ren,” one of the Knights calls, their voice muffled and distorted by their mask. “You have failed to respond to your Master’s summons. If you will not return to his side, you will die.”

Ben feels his lip curl into a derisive sneer, igniting his lightsaber. At his sides, he can see his family drawing their own. “I would rather die by my family’s side than kneel before Snoke again.”

“So be it, then.”

They clash in the center of the clearing, blades of blue and green and purple meeting those of red and orange. Ben does combat with one of the more experienced Knights, one of the few here that he trained himself. While the fight requires a fair bit of his attention, he still manages to keep half an eye on his family as they too do battle with the Darksiders.

To his left, Finn and Rey fight back to back, covering each other as they tangle with three of the younger Knights. As the least combat-experienced members of their party, it’s a smart tactic to stick together. Between Finn’s strength and Rey’s agility, they can work together to outmatch any opponent—even outnumbered as they are.

On his right, Luke is also doing combat with multiple opponents. Two of the Knights have engaged the Jedi Master, attempting to use their numbers to outmaneuver him. Luke is an experienced combatant, however, and easily keeps up with their pace. In the Force, his two opponents feel flustered. They are too inexperienced to pose any real threat to the Master. The most trained of their numbers had been felled on Yavin, leaving only the younger Knights found here.

Han has chosen to completely ignore their adversaries, darting in and out of the metaphorical line of fire as he attempts to reach their bound companions. He kneels at their feet, working to undo the cuffs holding them. Ben is given the opportunity to watch him for long, however, when the Knight he’s fighting nearly manages to take his hand of in a lucky swing. After that, he’s forced to switch his attention in full to the fight, trusting his family to hold their own.

Block, parry, thrust. There is a rhythm to combat, especially against an opponent that Ben himself trained, that is almost soothing. Even with the chaos of the world around them, as the earth beneath their feet begins to literally cave in on itself and the Dark Side pressing down, his mind doesn’t feel clouded. He feels centered; he has a purpose. Get everyone out of here alive.

That is, he feels centered until the moment the Force screams in warning, for a moment later everything descends into true chaos. Chewbacca howls, seeing whatever the Force has alerted Ben to, but this is all but drowned out by the sudden roar of a dozen voices and the pounding of booted feet as the officers previously held docilely within the Falcon’s cargo hold join the fray. Ben has just enough time to shove his opponent away with a Force-enhanced push and turn to watch the red blade of a Knight, broken away from their fight with Rey and Finn, pierce through Han’s stomach as though it were made of nothing more than flimsi.

In the next moment he’s hitting the ground, dropping out of the way as Phasma’s officers open fire indiscriminately on the Knights still standing. They fall to blaster the fire, and Ben crawls through the snow toward his own fallen father. Chewbacca is helping the newly-freed Phasma haul an unconscious Hux up the ramp and into the Falcon’s belly, clearly unhappy about leaving his friend behind for the moment. From the corner of his eye, he can spot Luke slowly working his way over to Han as well, ducking and dodging through the ricocheting blaster fire. Finn and Rey have been forced back to the tree line for cover.

He and Luke reach Han at the same time, working together to drag the man back behind the defensive line that Phasma’s officers have erected. The ‘saber had cauterized the edges of the wound, and between the smell of burnt flesh and Luke’s distressed scent, Ben is starting to feel like he might be sick. This can’t be happening—not after everything was going so well. He can hear himself babbling to the unconscious Alpha, but he’s not entirely sure what he’s saying.

One of Luke’s hands lands on Ben’s shoulders, startling him out of his panic. “Ben,” the Omega says, surprisingly evenly for the pain he sees in the Omega’s eyes, “we’re going to help him, ok? He’s going to be alright.”

Guilt immediately takes the place of worry. If anyone has the right to panic right now, it’s Luke. As Han’s bondmate, he shouldn’t have to stop and comfort Ben. Instead, he should be doing everything he can to save the Alpha’s life.

It takes a moment, but Ben eventually manages to wrangle his wild emotions and shove them to the back of his mind. There will be time for worry, for panic, for guilt later. For now, they need to get everyone on the Falcon. They need get Han to a medical bay. They need to get out of this planet’s atmosphere before it blows. With this list in mind, he has a clear path forward.

“Chewie get the engines started,” he hears Luke yell over the sound of waning blasterfire.

The last of the Knights fall to the officers’ attack, and the clearing is suddenly plunged into silence, with the exception of the hum of the engines warming up. For a moment everyone is still, broken with Rey’s shout of “Father!” as she bolts across to meet them, Finn hot on her tail.

Phasma appears back down the ramp as Ben and Luke haul Han up between them, the Omega ushering everyone back into the ship and praising her officers liberally for their heroic intervention. They all preen under her praise, settling back down in the cargo hold as Luke and Ben carry Han further into the Falcon’s belly. Rey follows as they drag the Alpha into the crew quarters, laying him gently on a cot. Finn breaks off in search of Hux, giving the family some privacy.

“Can you fix him?” Rey asks Luke, sounding more like a child asking about a broken droid than a young woman worried for the state of her sire. Ben can’t entirely blame her, knowing that she’s trying to cope with the situation just as he is.

The Omega settles on the edge of the cot, placing his hands over the wound in Han’s stomach and drawing the Force to him. “There is only so much one can do with the Force,” Luke sighs, “I should be able to stabilize him until we reach D’Qar. After that, it’s up to him.”

Ben and Rey huff matching breaths, unhappy with the helplessness they feel, but knowing they can do no more for now. Instead of making a fuss, they settle down on the floor by Luke’s feet, leaning against each other and starting a silent vigil for their father. The ship rattles as it takes off, as it breaks atmosphere, as the great planet-killer erupts behind them. As much as Ben wants to celebrate this victory, he finds that he cannot.

For now, all he can do is wait and hope that Han pulls through at the end of this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hate this chapter so much but I had to update today so fuck it.

**Author's Note:**

> First time writing for the Star Wars universe, so i'll probably royally screw up the lore at some point. Apologies in advance.  
> Anyways, let me know what you think?


End file.
